No Regrets; A Mantra of Perspective

It was in the darkest corner, the one tucked neatly and perfectly around the corner, just behind the bar with it’s horseshoe-shaped seat and intricate chandelier looming above, that I had my meltdown.  I had held it in for days and it wasn’t until that moment, something about that very moment, sitting next to my friend, that my grief suddenly took the stage like the thunder in a storm. 

My head dropped in embarrassment and her arms found there way to me, cradling me in an instinctive motherly embrace.  She rubbed my arm and stroked my hair just as my own mother would, in a way that only a friend of her caliber could do. She did what she could to comfort me and assure me that it was okay to cry.  

I sobbed.  

My body jumped with hiccups and I buried my face deep into my scarf, shame rising up in a toxic mix with my pain.  

People could see me.  

I was in a goddamn bar, but I couldn’t stop.  

I could feel the eyes staring with uncomfortable curiosity, probably assuming I had drank too much and was crying over a breakup.  They would never know that it was the sudden and intense realization that my friend was dead and never coming back that had caused this unexpected public display of emotion.

We had been outside by the fire earlier in the evening before it had started to rain.  Two beautiful young girls, sparking memories of ourselves in earlier years, had joined us in conversation between sets of the show they had come to see in the venue below the bar.  They were young and I envied their naiveté and the light air of happiness and innocence that surrounded them like a protective cloud.  As the conversation reached a certain depth, I had an urge to share something with them.  I told them I had a piece of advice that I hoped they would understand and hold on to. 

“Never regret the things you do, only the things you don’t,” I told them.  

One of them looked up at me from where she sat, the flames illuminating her face and exposing a deepness in her eyes that I couldn’t quite place.  

“You must always remember to live.  Always have fun and know that life is too short to dwell on your mistakes.” I added, unable to stop the words from coming.  It was the advice I had both said and heard so many times, but only now understood.  

“…But also be safe,” my friend added, always the logical and level headed one.  
We all laughed a bit at that. 

The girl sitting kept eye contact with me as she rose to her feet.  She came around the fire to where I stood and asked if she could hold my hands while I repeated what I had said again.  She placed both of her palms face up under mine and curled her small fingers tightly closed before shutting her eyes. 

“Never regret the things you do, only the things you don’t,” I said again. 

“Again, please,” she asked. 

“Never regret the things you do, only the things you don’t."

She said it a third time with me before releasing my hands and opening her eyes.  Her expression seemed as if she could cry as she thanked me for the wise words, promising never to forget them. 

Her friend pulled her away to go back downstairs, not wanting to miss the show they had paid to see.  I looked to my own friend, curious if she had the same feeling I did.  There had been something about that moment, holding that girls hands, that had captured me.  I felt like she understood that what I said wasn't just some clever phrase I had heard in a movie,  but a statement that really gave a different perspective on everything. 

It wasn't until after they left, when it was just the two of us alone by the fire again, that I thought of CJ, and how what I had told them was his favorite quote he had ever heard me say.  I could hear his voice repeating it, just as he often did, consoling me in times when I found myself questioning the direction my life was heading, or when I started feeling like I was stuck in a vicious cycle of disappointment over the decisions I had made.  
It was a mantra we spoke out loud to each other that triggered us to wake the fuck up and remember that life was too short for regrets.  It was a reminder that if we were unhappy, we had the power to change it. 

It was the mantra he lived by. 

But was it also the mantra he died by?