No matter the issue, missed-communication, error or confusion – there is always an explanation.
Why is it that sometimes, we listen to and completely accept explanations without questioning a syllable – and why do we sometimes accept explanations with teeth gritted, butt-cheeks clenched – our inner-voice saying ‘crapp-ola’, while our actual voice says: sure, no problem.
And why – no matter how sincere, no matter how innocent and valid that explanation – doe we, at best, muffle outrage, stifle our vitriolic bile we so need to spew?
And when we spew, is it far in excess of the magnitude of that event? Why? Because our anger is about something else, someone else, some other time, some other place.
I think regret looks like this: I’m not sure. I have little experience with regret. Or, maybe I have a lot of experience with regret but I’ve been giving it some other name. Calling some happening – whoever created it – a regret seems to me unfair. I’m not just talking about wishing we’d been born of different parents, to a different family, in a different place at a different time. Or a different place in the social stratosphere. And we wonder what if, why not, and how come. Sure, it’s a problem!
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