My neighborhood came back to life today. The sunshine was warm; the wind was cool; it felt wonderful to be outside. Sure, we’d had a warm day in February (and one that was actually hot!), but it was February and such days are understandably regarded with suspicion. On a warm day in February, people haul overflowing bins to the recycling center and wash the latest round of grit and grime from their cars, all the while casting furtive glances at the northwest sky and wondering if they should pick up one of the few remaining bags of Ice Melt at the store on the way home. But on a warm day in March, people take their kids to play at the park, shoot hoops at the basketball courts, and start batting practice for baseball. Garage doors stand open as mowers hum and outdoor living equipment gets prepped for a new season. (I won’t be surprised if the aroma of grilled meat teases me when I leave the house for class tonight.) So today, I’m dusting off this blog, updating the pictures, and writing a post.
Back in January, I took some time to reflect on 2016 and think about what I wanted in 2017. I was surprised to discover that one of my biggest regrets of last year was not writing more. I learned from Michael Hyatt that “the feelings of regret and disappointment are strongest where the chances for corrective reaction are clearest; the stronger the regret, the great the opportunity for improvement.” In other words, I don’t have much regret about not trying out for the community theater because even though acting is something I enjoy it would require a huge change to my work schedule to do it (and that’s assuming that I could get my rusty acting skills sufficiently oiled to be cast at the audition). But I have a lot more regret about not writing because I know that it was something I was absolutely able to do, but chose (consciously or unconsciously) not to do.
The question then becomes, “Is it still possible to do what you regret not doing in some form or fashion?” If the answer is “Yes,” then go for it! Believe that it’s never too late to dream a new dream or make a new plan. Whether your dream seems outrageous (like becoming an aerial artist at age 59) or mundane (like writing posts about books you read and crafts you make), it’s worth pursuing if it’s valuable and meaningful to you.
My blog came back to life today. What dream are you going to resurrect today?