I’m not usually much of a breakfast eater. I’m not exactly sure where that habit came from, but I suspect it may be a by-product of my growing-up years. I’d get up early to help my dad with the chores that surrounded our little 30-cow dairy. Breakfast came after the chores and milking were done, and, as you might imagine, it was often quite a rush to shove breakfast down in time to catch the bus for school.
Make no mistake, I do a good job of finding my daily calories. I usually just find them later in the day. One day, I figured I’d whip up a quick breakfast before I set out for the day. I hadn’t yet started in the vicious grind of calving season, and I wasn’t particularly rushed that morning. I hadn't planned an extravagant breakfast, just a couple of pieces of toast and some milk. I’m not much of a cook, but how could I screw that up?
I buttered my toast and reached into the fridge for a bottle of homemade jam. I knew right where it was in the door of the refrigerator, so I scarcely paid attention as I smacked a glob on my toast. Before I ventured too far into the process, I noticed that I’d grabbed a bottle of salsa instead of the jam. Being a student of the “waste not, want not” school of thought, I made a quick condiment switch and slathered some apricot jam over the salsa-covered slice of cracked wheat wholesomeness and snarfed the whole piece down in two bites. It was slightly south of awful, but I managed the feat without a gag. I felt a twinge of regret.
A big glass of milk would surely help. And if milk was good, adding some chocolate to it would be that much better. As I continued in my overindulgence fest, I plopped a couple of heaping spoonfuls of chocolate powder into the glass, at which point, I accidentally tipped the glass over, and I watched 20 ounces of milk spread all over the countertop and down into the drawers below. It took me a good 15 minutes of my life, and three or four fresh towels, to clean up my mess. I felt a twinge of regret. If I’d just stuck to my routine, I’d have avoided the risk and the wreck that came with the breakfast debacle.
Regret. It’s a funny thing. I occasionally hear people say they have no regrets. I don’t believe them, and I don't even think it's possible. I feel sorry for those who make that claim. Working through regret is, by its very nature, not pleasant, but if there’s no regret, how can there be growth and positive change? And, I’ve discovered that time and experience can dull the sting of regret and often vanquish the beast altogether. Even so, I got to thinking. What meaningful things have I done – monumental or minute – that may have been at first distressing, but that in the end, I absolutely don’t regret? Here’s some of what I came up with:
- Finishing the freshman dummy math class in my last semester of college
- Messing around for four years, so I had to take a dummy math class in my last semester to graduate from college
- Defending my kids against what I thought were out-of-line actions by a teacher or coach
- Defending a teacher or coach when my kids were out of line
- Getting a new puppy and a new colt to add to the already overpopulated dog and pony show
- Working through the tears to put down an old dog or an old horse
- Quitting one ranch job for a better one
- Losing the better job, with no prospects of any job at all
- Sobbing like a fool as I danced with my daughter at her wedding
- Buying a custom-made saddle
- Having one more baby
- Raising three sons and two daughters and living in a cheap-made, too-small, three-bedroom house for nearly 30 years
- Signing the papers to allow my son to join the army
- Writing a story or two about what I felt, instead of what I thought someone might agree with
- Doing something for me and not for someone else
- Doing something for someone else and not for myself
