On Regret: Reflection and Growth

Photo by Marcos Paulo Prado on Unsplash

“The only run you ever regret is the one you didn’t do.” We hear this phrase a lot in running, and it’s perhaps true, or as true as any generalization about running can be. I’ve certainly regretted more skipped runs than completed ones. 

We even hear a different version of the advice applied to life - something along the lines of Mark Twain’s “you’ll be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than the things you did do,” or any other of the dozen or so variations you can find by a googling “regret.” No offense to Mr. Clements, but I’m calling bullshit. 

I regret plenty of things I did, and I’m proud of so many things I denied, the things I met with a resounding “no.” 

I’ve always been a yes person. In fact, I’m not just a “yes” person, I’m a “yes, and..” person. If there was something new or different, I wanted to try it. It’s how I got into ultra-running really. It’s how I decided to run across the country. I’ve never been much for self-restriction - in my diet, my career, and certainly not in my social life. 

One more round? “Yes, please.”  Inappropriately flirt with that man. “Absolutely.” Two desserts? “Let’s go with three.”

This approach to life wasn’t designed or intentional, at least not at first, but it paid off. I experienced, and still experience, so much richness in my life that it can be overwhelming at times - certainly for those around me. Saying yes, without much thought gave me a study abroad experience that sparked a love of travel. Joining the Marine Corps after 10 minutes with a recruiter gave me a career and put me right in the path of my loving partner and growing family. Saying yes has filled my timeline with foreign landscapes, committed love, and a diverse and full life. 

It also landed me in jail, twice. It saddled me with massive credit card debt for a decade. It devoured countless Saturday morning long runs and plans. It broke relationships. Perhaps most importantly, saying yes held me back. It stunted my growth, distracted me from the work I needed to do with the play I wanted to do. 

Regret? Oh yeah. I know regret. I have more than a few. 

Sure sure there’s the old adage of how every mistake made you who you are today, and how you learn more from your failures than your successes. Again, maybe some truth there, but there’s also a threat of idealism, a toxic positive that allows some of us (me) to brush off bad behavior as a “learning experience.” Here’s the thing about me, when I brush something off, it’s destined to come right back, landed squarely on my shoulders. Which is undoubtedly why I made (ok make) the same mistakes over and over again, or at least in part. I write these errors, these poor choices off as the behaviors of “yesterday Maggie.” I would send my apology text, rinse out the wine bottles, chug my gatorade and move on. I may even run a few hungover miles as penance. But I never really sat in those mistakes. I never spent time reflecting on them, regretting them. And so, it took me a very long time to acknowledge their roots and the damage their branches did as they grew. I never acknowledged the rotting fruit of my decisions, because I thought regret was a useless emotion. I thought it only brought about rumination and shame. 

We used to say in the Marine Corps that “shame was an effective tool of discipline.” What we meant was that we could influence or even control the behavior of Marines by appealing to a sense of responsibility - not just to the individual Marine, but to the unit and the entire Marine Corps. It certainly worked for many, but I think we got the word wrong. Shame may have had the short-term effects of behavior control, but at what cost? 

There’s been much discussion over shame, how it eats at the core of self-worth and self-love. How it spirals us into depression and self-loathing. How it is both a result of and driver of rumination, in which we run the same mile over and over again, rehashing and critiquing every step, every arm swing, every too deep or too shallow breath. No, I can’t defend rumination and shame, these are tyrants of our past, doubling the power in the present so they can entrench themselves in our future. They pull us back, blocking any paths forward. 

Regret doesn’t belong there, with shame and rumination. Regret belongs with reflection, on examining our behavior not with a sense of judgment, but with a sense of love and curiosity. Reflection isn’t running the same mile over and over again, but sitting down quietly after a run acknowledging the strengths and weaknesses. It’s honoring all that truly is in order to manifest what needs to be. It’s looking at an experience objectively, with clear eyes and an open heart, giving grace when needed, but encouraging growth at the same time. Reflection is reason over raw emotion, courage over ignorance, and progress over repetition. 

Reflection allows for a pause in space in time, for us to examine all the open paths. It empowers us to choose the one that leads out, up, and onward. It doesn’t absolve us of our past behaviors, but we shouldn’t seek absolution. We are our choices, the ones we’ve made, the ones we’re making, and those we have yet to make - all our choices, not just the poor or the perfect. Absolution circles us back, centers us and our needs over the needs of others, it ignores the impacts of our poor choices on others, makes us selfish and weak, it removes us from reality, strips us of the power and progress that comes with regret. 

Because ultimately regret shows responsibility, power, and growth. When we regret something, it reveals much about our character, our values, and our progress. It allows us to acknowledge the harm we’ve caused, in ourselves and others. It empowers us with the knowledge, trust, and confidence not to create that same harm. It reflects the growth, the miles we’ve covered since that of which we regret, and it propels us forward unencumbered. We become encouraged, even powered by our regret, because it names who we were, who we are, and who we’re becoming. In naming it, feeling it, and running with it - we move forward.