I don’t read much poetry. I'm not against it, and actually think the world needs poets, if for nothing else, to give us rhymes to remember besides the colors of violets and roses.
My poetic recall contains only two. One was "Annabel Lee" by Edgar Allen Poe, which I had to memorize in eighth grade, and may have inspired a horror franchise. It’s dark and depressing.
The other one is not. Maybe. I actually like it a lot: “The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost. I had to recite this one in high school and can still recall stanzas today because its words really resonated. And maybe even led to this series of posts.
In it, there were two roads the traveler could take. He examined both. They looked similar except for their direction. And one appeared less traveled. He took the path most had not. He says that choice made all the difference. But with a sigh. Was it one of satisfaction? Or regret? It’s probably intentionally left to the reader. Much of my life seems like a road less traveled. I sigh when thinking about the choices leading me there. Sometimes out of contentment. Others a bit remorseful. Like this:
Missing More Meaningful Conversations – If I’m not comfortable around someone, I generally struggle with what to say. Small talk’s not a gift of mine. But that’s OK. Small talk is, well, small.
What I regret is not having more in-depth conversations with people, talking about things that truly mattered. Like personal issues, world views, faith, hopes, struggles and the like. With friends and family, and acquaintances who—had some of these conversations been had—might have become closer.
One thing in particular is wishing I’d engaged in more meaningful conversations with my dad. He didn't say much, and our conversations were mostly him checking in on me keeping my life on track—things like car maintenance or 401k contributions—and chats on various sports teams, like the Dolphins or Sooners.
We had lots of different tastes. He loved guns, motorcycles, fishing and mafia movies. I like movies featuring guns or fish (or guns and fish) but preferred bicycles. So, there wasn’t a ton of conversation on these things. Much of it consisted of our greatest hits of inside jokes and trying to make each other laugh—usually at the other’s expense.
Things changed when he got sick. We talked a lot. About fatherhood. Mortality. Faith. Family history. Ironically, when he lost the ability to speak, our conversations got even deeper, sharing thoughts on dry-erase boards. We got into stuff never covered when life was normal, right up to when cancer silenced our conversations forever. I wish we had started these talks earlier.
Lessons Learned: Open up, listen more, invest in others. With those that matter most and those who could matter more with some conversational investment. The hours are short. Windows of opportunity don’t stay open forever. Having meaningful conversations is definitely a road less traveled—but it certainly makes all the difference.
OK... that was heavy. Another parent related, lighter regret?
Not Listening to Mom – She constantly told me to “major in computers” in college because, “Computers are the wave of the future.”
Lesson Learned: Mom was right. Instead of writing about technical things, I could’ve been developing or coding them. Trust me, it would’ve paid much better.
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