Regrets

Woulda, shoulda, coulda....

As I have mentioned previously, I had a terrible time turning 60. Getting closer to death’s door. 50 was fine. My entire 50s I was just too busy with so many things, including fighting breast cancer, that I actually didn’t give much thought to dieing. It makes no sense, and that is why the cancer center sent me for some “counseling.”

I honestly figured that in turing 60, no matter how you do the math, I have more years behind me instead of in front of me. Unless of course, I am blessed to live as long as Moses, he went up on Mount Nebo at 120.

I think another part of the issues I faced as I entered the “golden years” is the regrets that I have. You do alot of looking back at some point in your life and rue some of the choices you have made.

Did you really study what you wanted to study? No. I went to law school because I thought it would be more flexible than a degree in Middle Eastern Studies. Regret #1 (I did end up teaching the subject as a volunteer, but never had a career in the area. I used to write alot about this area though, in a blog now only found on the WayBack Machine. I even won some online awards for it, too. Also created classes for our Temple on Jewish history/law/religion, plus something for middle schoolers on rights and obligations under the US Constitution).

While an education is never a waste, the thing I found out is that you go to law school to be a lawyer. Period. If your interests lie elsewhere, study that. It was a bad choice on my part. And yes having a background in law did help when it came to getting my autistic sons the help they needed, but in truth, you really don’t need a law degree to learn your child’s rights.

Did you find the love of your life? Yes. College sweetheart, and law school buddy (He jokes he’s the only reason I made it through law school because I borrowed his outlines. Which is true of course. I hated law school, as I said, I should have not gone. And yes, I passed the Bar, of course.) 42 years married.

Did you accomplish the goals you set out for yourself? Well I did up until the age of 40.

Let me explain. I had this map of things I had wanted in my life by the time I turned 40. Now that list did change over time, because of the changes in my life. But for the most part, when it came to my family, what the boys required, the career success that I wanted for my husband, and the stable home life that was needed, everything on my list was accomplished.

And yes, I am one of those women who did give up any idea of a career to stay home with their children. I always said that I would go back to work when the boys could talk and tell me about their day. This way if the babysitter/nanny was not treating them right, at least they could tell me, and we could take care of it.

But you know what? The boys never really started to talk until they were in elementary school. Well, not in the tell mommy everything that happened that day kind of way children start doing shortly after turning 2. They could tell me about what they wanted to eat, what they watch on telly and the like, but they could not effectively tell me a story. They had what is called pragmatic speech issues. (Now they don’t tell me anything simply because I am annoying crone who is the bane of their existence. But that is a different issue.)

Now remember too, when I was 40, this is decades before people worked from home, and the internet was a brand new thing. To get online, AOL used to send you a little CD where you could download the program you needed. Dial up was the rage. I still remember when a family member got DSL and one Thanksgiving we all gathered around their computer just to watch it load. (I kid you not. It was the center of the day other than the turkey.)

Yeah the youngin’s are so spoiled….

Meanwhile, I have tried to figure out what would come next after 40. It is really weird to reach your goals and then get stymied. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out what came next. Regret #2.

I did try volunteering as a lawyer to get my foot in the door. (I know, I didn’t like being a lawyer, but I figured I might as well use my education) Unfortunately, the organizations I reached out to volunteer with were not interested in training me, because I had to stay at home with the boys. (I could have paid for a sitter to come in for training according to one group I spoke with. I guess all they knew were the ladies who lunch who could afford to pay for special sitters for autistic children - no we did not get respite care. The boys were not affected enough.)

I distinctly remember one very rude call, where the woman lawyer on the other end, told me that they could not accommodate me since it just wasn’t done. It wasn’t even something she would consider figuring out how to do. She was munching on potato chips on the other end of the phone throughout the call. (I can still hear it. Yes, I know I have this weird memory.) Then she hung up without even bothering to say goodbye. Apparently, calling me was simply a chore she had to get done, like cleaning her toilet.

So I did the next best thing, I spent decades volunteering for the PTA in the boys’ schools. I figured it garnered good will from the teachers and the administration. Something the boys truly needed. I also enjoyed being part of the school and watching how everything worked and getting to know the staff on a more personal level. No regrets.

But eventually, that still left me with a huge hole. The boys grew up, and I still need to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. Yes, I have found a job where I can work at home. No, it has nothing to do with law, or with the Middle East (but it does have to do with autism-I know I am doing something good for others at my job as well. So that is a boon.).

But there are still so many thoughts whirling around inside my head, I had to find a way to get it down somewhere.

I suppose that is why I write. (The link in my bio is to another blog I used to write)

You could say that what I want to be when I grow up is a writer. (Well, I am a writer in my own mind).

I think in life as you age, you do find that there are regrets of different magnitudes. Some that made no real difference in the trajectory of your life and others that would have turned everything on its head.

But in the end the real issue is acknowledging that if you are unhappy with the way things are, then you need to do something about your reality as of today. Harping on woulda, shoulda, coulda, is not going to help anyone. Least of all you.

The philosophy of the moment tells us that if you are stuck in the past there is no way for you to move forward. Yes, that is true on some level if it becomes all consuming to the point that it prevents you from getting out of bed, and you can’t move on from ruefully examining all of your past mistakes.

Firstly, you need to cut yourself a break, as they say. Humans make mistakes. It happens. Society even tells murderers that they can seek redemption, so if you aren’t a serial killer just let whatever ails you go….(personally, I am still working on letting shit go. It’s really not that easy. Regret #3)

On the other hand, considering that the holiday of Tisha B’Av is coming up Monday, on August 12, which is all about the past traumas that the Jewish people have endured, telling Jewish people to ignore history is not going to happen. No more than telling us that we need to stop remembering our escape from slavery over 3000 years ago (Passover).

Most of Judaism is in and of itself a remembrance of history. We like to say tradition/ethics/law/religion. Basically, we are our forebears. Now scientists/psychiatrists/doctors tell us we carry our ancestors trauma with us too. It is genetically passed from one generation to the next. Oh boy. It’s not enough we have our own mishegas, now we have 3000 years of internalized mishegas to contend with as well.

Secondly, think what gives you joy. If it is writing, write. It is is painting, paint. If it is singing, sing…one of the biggest regrets in life is not finding time to do what you enjoy. (Personally, I have moved from one crafty thing to the next, from needlepoint to embroidery to crocheting to knitting. All of which I enjoyed.)

Lastly, well for me at least, is to simply realize that I am never going to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. Sometimes, you just need to recognize that the path that you have taken doesn’t allow for explicit explanations of who you want to be and what you want to personally accomplish. Maybe it’s because I feel I am still needed to help my sons figure out their future, because one day the husband and I will no longer be here and the boys do need to take care of themselves.

We played this game on twitter along time ago, “You might be an autism parent if…” a take off on Jeff Foxworthy’s “You might be a redneck…” My contribution was:

You might be an autism parent if, you have a will and a guardian picked out, but know you can never ever die.

Sometimes helping others is a goal in and of itself and one that used to be seen as a societal good. Something that used to make people feel happy and content. Something parents, mothers especially, used to be respected for.

Maybe that’s what I want to be when I grow up. Secure in the knowledge that when I leave this world, my autistic sons will be ok.

Then I know I will have no regrets.