March 22: Spring-Time, Haggard Winter, More Regrets

And now, Scrooge looked no more attentively than ever, when the master of the house, having his daughter leaning fondly on him, sat down with her and her mother at his own fireside; and when he thought that such another creature, quite as graceful and as full of promise, might have called him father, and been a spring-time in the haggard winter of his life, his sight grew very dim indeed.

Scrooge is observing an encounter between his former fiancee, Belle, and her husband.  The Ghost of Christmas Past is obviously trying to make Scrooge realize what he has missed in his life.  This little domestic scene brings Scrooge to tears ("his sight grew very dim indeed") when her realizes that Belle's daughter could have been his daughter.  Regret sits in this passage like a thick fog.

I have blogged about regrets before.  I have blogged about how useless contemplating missed possibilities actually is.  Scrooge can't do anything to change his past.  He will never be a father.  I can't do anything to change my past.  I will never be a lot of things.  I will never be the youngest person to win the Nobel Prize in Literature.  I passed that point a couple of years ago, so Rudyard Kipling will hold that title a while longer.  I will probably never win the Pulitzer Prize for anything, poetry or fiction or biography or cartooning or blogging or limerick.  I joke about it.  I experience jealousy/envy/hatred for people who do win the prize.  However, in the "haggard winter" of my life, I have to face the fact that I will probably not be able to add the title "Pulitzer Prize Winner" after my name.

Regret is a horrible thing.  It can make you believe the you are the biggest failure in the world.  I could have been a lot of things.  I could have been a tenured professor.  I could have been an award-winning writer.  I could have been making at least double my current yearly income.  I could have been living in a three-bedroom, two-bathroom house, maybe with a fireplace and a hot tub.  I could have been driving an Escalade or Hummer.  I could've had class, I coulda been a contender, I could've been somebody...instead of a bum which is what I am, let's face it.

Sorry, I got a little carried away there.  But you get the idea.  Regrets beat a person down, especially if you're in the haggard winter of life instead of spring-time.  For Scrooge, the little girl in the above passage represents the most precious things he's lost in life.  Chasing regrets is like Alice chasing the White Rabbit down the hole.  It's pointless.

Therefore, I'm going to try to shake off the melancholy I'm experiencing this morning, inventorying all the things I don't have in my life.  It's tough, especially when it feels like you're drowning in your current situation.  However, I'll hold on to my symbols of hope.  My kids.  My wife.  I may have regrets, but I also have blessings.

Saint Marty's sight is growing very dim indeed.

Saint Marlon, full of regrets