3:00 p.m. already? Crap. How did it get so late? There's still so much left to do before picking up the boys. And I haven’t even fed the horses yet. What happened to my whole day?!
I sat there trying to figure out which one of the rabbit holes was to blame for my poor time management. I sifted through them as I tried to pinpoint exactly how I’d gotten so off track.
Was it the one where I searched for recipes and tips on what to make for dinner when you're sick of making dinner?
Was it the one where I looked everywhere trying to find that receipt for the return I needed to do tomorrow, knowing that if I didn't find it today, I’d surely forget it.
Maybe it was the one where I researched less commonly known symptoms of perimenopause? (was forgetfulness one of them? I can't remember now.)
Darn it, I shouldn't have allowed myself to get so distracted. I should have gotten up at 5am instead of 6am (Like I said I would). I definitely shouldn't have stayed up so late watching YouTube videos on narcissism (Like I said I wouldn't. But it’s a fascinating study I return to every now and again to help remind me that I’m not crazy; that it's real; that they’ll never change; that my healing will never end).
I could have been so much more productive if I’d just done what I said I was going to do.
If only I hadn't wasted all those hours. If only I'd done things differently.
Lamenting the failures of the past few hours was a microcosm of the regret I’ve been carrying around lately about the past few years. Decades, actually.
Looking back and seeing just how much time has passed. Well welcome to middle age, my friend! I know, I know, it’s part and parcel; the bittersweet reflection; the stark realization that, should you be so fortunate, you’re already halfway. (and the sick to your stomach realization that you might not be.) But it stings a little more knowing that if I’d just started this writing path before; if I’d just picked up my pen every day and kept writing for 20 years like I said I was going to, I’d be in a very different place right now.
Why didn’t you do more? Why didn’t you try harder? Why did you waste all those years?
I didn’t need to sift through my past too long; the sinkholes of mental illness and c-ptsd held me beneath the surface for most of it. I knew exactly why, but knowing it doesn’t change it. That time was gone. I’d never get it back.
“But you have it now.”
The judge’s words and the remembrance of that comically horrific moment in my life snaps me out of my self-pity. I chuckle to myself as I quickly run out to the barn.
If regret could be captured in one snapshot, it would be one of a nondescript, beige small claims courtroom 15 years ago, with me nervously sitting next to a stack of papers; evidence, proof, of how I was right and they were wrong. It was a petty case over a lease agreement gone wrong. A misunderstanding, as they often are. A lack of communication and a bounty of youthful arrogance - a deadly combination.
I had my paper stack of properly dotted ‘i’s and diligently crossed ‘t’s at the ready, but ultimately, I had something even better….
Both parties were supposed to let the other review their documents before the hearing. But they missed the deadline! I didn’t get them until minutes before ours. Ha! Gotcha! And just like in the tv shows, when the case looks like all is lost, but then the big shot lawyer pulls a magic bullet out of their back pocket and down comes the judge’s gavel - Wham!, case dismissed! Our whole case was about get thrown out because of a technicality.
Except this wasn’t TV. There are no gavels and technicalities don’t matter. Real life was much less dramatic and far more dull.
The judge looked at me with deadpan eyes as I tried to wave my magic trump card: “But but…but I was supposed to get the documents before! They made a mistake. I didn’t have enough time. I…I was supposed to have them BEFORE!
She didn't blink. She didn’t speak, but her face said, Who is this ridiculous woman and when is my coffee break? She peered over her glasses, trying to get a better look at the woman in front of her trying to “win” a petty small claims battle as if she was in an episode of Law & Order, and finally said; “well you have it now.”
You have it now.
No need for a monk or a mountaintop, this small claims judge in a nondescript small claims courtroom was a spiritual teacher in a different set of robes.
The past is irrelevant. All that matters is Now.
I repeat these words in my mind, trying to hold back the growing guilt now that I’ve kept the horses waiting so long. I scoop the feed into the three bowls, tuck them under my arm and head towards the paddock. Now you’ve not only let yourself down, but you’ve let these guys down as well. I’m almost at the gate, and there was Skye, a shimmering light, waiting patiently. As she saw me approach she let out the cutest little neighing sound, “ooh, my breakfast, hooray!”
She didn’t care that I had messed up my day. She didn’t care that it was 3pm and that I should have brought their food out hours ago.
“You have it now!” said her delightful whinny, without a single trace of judgement. What you did before doesn’t matter. Nothing is lost because this moment is here.
Now what will you do with it?
Well I guess I’ll just pick up my pen every day and keep writing. Case closed.