On the could-haves and would-haves

A constant theme in the last few years, but one that I have been reliving very intensely lately: past loss and thinking about the good old grief of all the could-haves and would-haves of my life. The seemingly eternal sadness piled upon sadness of all that I have left behind. The liberation of choosing one thing, moving ahead with a sense of purpose, enjoying and cherishing it comes with the grief of the choice unmade.


This story always brings a hint of feeling like I wasn’t fast enough, good enough, smart enough. Hazy day-dreaming of a life I could have had, if I had stuck to a particular path. Feeling FOMO when I see my friends from certain phases in life that I have moved on from.

It’s hard to remember that nothing good gets away.

If it is right, it happens—The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.

John Steinbeck wrote this in a letter to his 14-year-old son, talking about heartbreak. While this here, is about love here, this current bout of grief has me wondering if it is worth experimenting with this with everything else that I value, want or am working towards.

How can I cultivate a deep belief in divine timing. In the fact that there is a lot to go around — a lot of love, a lot of luck, a lot of prosperity. And that the inherent timing of a happening is something to lean into.

What if I questioned the notion of “running out of time” or accepted it for simply what it is, a construct that makes the people of this planet tick in “timely” fashion so we can be productive and “useful” in only a certain way.

What if I surrendered my judgement around the words “too slow” or “too fast” and in the end allowed whatever pace I want or have, to work for me.

What if I chose to believe in the non-linear way of life working out just as it is meant to, not a moment off-key?

Then if I put my head down and do the work, maybe I’ll be more likely to align my desires with my actions and reach places I want to be? And maybe the grief that I know won’t ever abate, will be sweet and liberating rather than bitter and constricting?

One year ago: To new Mondays like these
Four years ago: That’s how the light gets in

Pour your thoughts over mine

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