There's an old saying to the effect that "Ever since I gave up hope, I feel much better." As with most old sayings, there's a smidgen of truth behind it: if your hopes have been repeatedly dashed, it might well be less painful to shove them back into the background somewhere and concentrate on something else entirely. But the element of surrender still makes me a tad squeamish, even if it's somebody else's surrender:
Thanks to those few of you who read and responded to what I posted yesterday. At the time I hit "publish" it seemed like the right thing to do. This morning at 3:30 a.m., I was experiencing 'blogger's remorse' and saved it back to drafts instead. That way, it's not gone and everyone's kind comments aren't either. If you missed it, permit me to sum up:
I missed the original and therefore didn't respond to it, and I didn't add this to her executive summary either, inasmuch as I'm going to get both tedious and verbose in the next few paragraphs.
The fact is, everybody misses out on some opportunities in life; so long as your time is limited, and most assuredly it is, there's no possible way to cram in every last experience you'd like to have. It's possible to say that no, you have no regrets, or even that you've had a few, but then again, too few to mention, but it's not because you've experienced everything: it's because you've done what you could to live your life to the fullest, and more or less calmly, you accept your fate. (I have always believed that this process is inextricably intertwined with the classic "deathbed confession," though I'm in no position to verify this premise just now.)
It is likewise true that raising a family does get in the way of some sorts of "adventures" one might aspire to have someday; it's tricky to fly off to Gstaad for a ski trip if you've got to arrange for sitters, and most of the moms I know, even if afforded the opportunity, will spend more time checking in wit