Recently, a discussion between myself and Mike Reeves-McMillan from Living Skillfully over on The Home of Awesome, led to the statement that cake isn’t just cake. (you can read the transcript of the discussion here at why cake is never just cake) And while my first response was “of course, sometimes the cake is a lie,” after a little thought, I realised that this is why sometimes making a choice, or at least, living with one, can be so difficult.
I find myself revisiting the sites of past battles with the Hydra. I look at the ground, and see the tracks and wonder what if I had dodged left instead of right. I look at the heads that were severed off with a successful strike and wonder about the ones that also withered. And when there is a Hydra carcass or skeleton, I wonder what the Hydra would look like had it survived.
Why do this? What good could possibly come from looking at past decisions with regret?
Sometimes we go back because we’ve made a mistake. We look at the marks left by the battle and relive the battle to learn. We learn where we went wrong. We endeavour to commit the lesson to memory. We vow not to make the same mistake again. And we go off and practice.
The reason for revisiting those battles is easy. What about the ones where we didn’t make a mistake? Leaving the job to spend time at home with the children. Not buying the fancy car so you can own a horse. Revisiting those decisions serves no purpose, or does it.
Perhaps, we have to revisit those to learn a lesson too. But it’s not the lesson you’d expect. This is not about learning how to make a better decision. No, this is about learning to let go. Learning to make peace with your decisions. Learning how to accept that certain paths are no longer available to you, certain battles no longer need to be fought.
But how? How do you accept the decision when all you can see is what you’ve given up?
First up, you have to allow yourself to grieve. You can honour the fallen foe for their valour in battle. Praise their good qualities, and mourn the loss of the magnificent creature. You have removed it from the world. It deserves a funeral. You can build a cairn or you can give it the flames of a viking burial, but you have to mourn it’s loss and glorify the contribution that the battle made to the direction you have taken and the person you have become.
You may have learnt a new trick, you may have perfected an old one. One thing is certain, the battle taught you something. You need to find out what that lesson is and make sure you learn it. Otherwise, you will continue to visit the grave of the choice, looking for something. Pining for a life that could have been.
And that, is no way to live.
