No Regrets?

Since we have been learning how to properly use the conditionnel forms of verbs in my French class, a big theme has been regrets. The conditionnel is mostly used, as far as I can ascertain, for expressing regrets, desires, hypothetical situations, and reprimands.

The above list is likely not exhaustive, but as my list of what the conditionnel is used for formerly consisted of, "I have absolutely no idea," it is a considerable improvement, and one with which I am satisfied. After only two weeks of what is called "extensive" French lessons, I have learned what eluded me for an entire decade during my schooling. Talk about an expeditious return on my investment.

Anyway, we have been talking about regrets, as I also mentioned in the blog entry immediately prior to this one. Speaking of that entry, you might be interested to know that I can now say with some alacrity, in French, that I regret not knowing what Chirac looked like before opening my big American mouth in class last week. But that is neither here nor there.

The point is that my French teacher, evidently inspired by the topic of regret in general, started going around the room and asking each of us in the class what were our biggest regrets in life.

Questions like these make many people cringe and clam up. Not me. I love them.

My brother is a life coach, my best friend is a social worker, and my mentor for life in general is a counselor/coach as well. Are you kidding me? Not only am I no stranger to opening up parts of my inner psyche that most people dub as "off limits," but I love doing so. I am fascinated by these kinds of conversations, and I am riveted by the responses of others. Human beings are so WEIRD (myself not excluded, by the way), and learning about all the oddities is sort of a personal hobby.

Speaking of weird, right?

So the teacher goes around and asks everyone to tell the class about their regrets. Not to be judgmental or anything, but I found the answers to be rather uninspired. Since my classmates are all operating with limited French, it is possible that such was the circumstance hindering their ability to adequately express their regrets, but still. One girl said that she regretted giving up the piano.

Umm what? Don't regret that, girlie, just start playing again. She is only about 18, so it is not as though she is plagued by arthritis or a terribly grueling schedule or some other obstacle; she could actually just start tickling the ivories again whenever it suits her fancy. It really seems useless to me to regret something that you have utter power to change within a 24 hour period. Are you with me?

Another person allowed that she regretted selecting the particular college she wound up attending, but then would not explain why because she said it was "too personal." Bummer. Would have liked to hear that one, as I obviously love hearing anything that is "too personal."

Most of the other responses were equally banal and unexciting. I wanted to hear some major divulgences, like "I regret stealing my brother's girlfriend," or "I regret having gone to jail for arson," or something a little more juicy.

Anyway, I was about to tell the class that I regret not having had a better relationship with my dad while he was still physically alive. Many people might cringe at my openness on that end or wonder why on earth I would admit such a "personal" thing to a class full of strangers in broken French, but that was what came to mind first, and not to honestly answer a serious question seemed disingenuous. It surprised me, then, that when my turn came, I instead said: "I have no regrets."

Somehow, it felt really true.

Boring as all get out, but true noentheless.

Maybe I should have invented a "faux-gret" just for the sake of the class. I could have said I regretted not saying yes to training for the Olympic figure skating team when I was 10.

I do sort of regret that, though it was never an option as I was never a figure skater, let alone an Olympic hopeful. As if. Still, I like the outfits, and such a life of discipline and difficulty would have likely prepared me well to write a deliciously tortured memoir, and I could be working on that right now instead of sharing odd tidbits about my rather unexciting personal life on this blog. Oh, well. Spilled milk.

That was neither milk nor spilled, when you think about it.

So after revealing to my class that I had no regrets, I really started considering the question over the next few days. Was it true? I figured that I must have some regrets (real ones, not of the Olympic skater variety). I could easily conjure up things surrounding which I had some sadness or some wistfulness, but not really regret. And then there are certainly some past behaviors/actions of which I am not terribly proud. But even when I examined those in the context of the life path I have thus far traveled, I saw clearly that they could never be considered "regrets" (yes, even my relationship with my dad). "Shame-inducing snafus," maybe.

Since I did not particularly like my answer (boring), I became sort of obsessive about really trying to figure out if I actually have no regrets. As a result, all last week I pondered this question as I walked from metro to metro, train to train, and observed the world around me. Then it struck me that I do have one regret.

I regret having spent so much of my life being self-conscious.

It was like a lightbulb that went off in my head. Walking around Paris, you see so clearly and absolutely that the French are not self-conscious or self-apologetic in the slightest. I wasted so much of my life worrying about what others thought, petrified of making mistakes, or of seeming like a fool. And why?

No one in Paris is concerned with any of that and, as a result they have plenty of time to cook and eat great food, to drink delicious wine, to sit for hours over a coffee with friends. They are not troubled by what they may or may not be doing "wrong" and, perhaps such is what allows them to have 5-plus weeks of vacation chaque annee. They do not apologize for making mistakes (though they could lay off acting as though their mistakes are actually the problems of others). Nor do they apologize for their dog barking in public or for not knowing what type of cheese they want even when there is a huge line snaking behind them at the fromagerie.

So there you have it, and I think it is a good one: I regret being so self-conscious for so much of my life. And now it is not for long...I am rectifying the regret as we speak; living in Paris, I find that these French people are really showing me how to obliterate that nonsense from my life.

It figures that now that I am actually able to use the conditionnel to express regrets, the one that I could finally identify is now steadily dissipating. I am telling you: irony really is everywhere.