The Color Of Regret

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an iron cast gold flower
Photo by Kaushal Moradiya on Pexels.com

The garage rattles noisily when I press the switch. I wince. It is not yet 6:00 am. The breeze feels deliciously chill when I drag the two-wheel toter that houses my garbage bags out to the edge of the driveway. I position it and return for the tub containing recycle trash. I stand for a moment in my driveway facing west noticing dark clouds kissed by pink. I am fascinated by how the light creeps up incrementally. By the time I am back after putting the recycle bin down, the sky is lighter and the breeze still beautiful.

I opt to walk instead of spending time exercising on the elliptical. I start out slow, pick up the pace and feel my heart work. As it happens whenever I walk alone, my thoughts pick on something and keep at it. Today I wondered why the words “kissed with pink” came to mind unprompted when I saw those clouds. I walked pondering the meaning of words and their origins.

I should have taken something to do with the arts after high school. Visual Communications, Mass Communication, Journalism, Literature, any of those would have been better suited to my interests than what I went to school for. I struggled through a triple major of Math, Physics, and Chemistry and as if that was not enough, slogged through accounts, economics and statistics for my MBA.

Do I regret it? Sure! Do I wish I could go back and change things? I am not sure. Those degrees in Math and later business helped pay bills, helped me bring my American dream to life. They built self-esteem and made me a proud working woman.

What color would I paint my regret I muse? Red? Violet? Rust? Blue? All the colors that spring to mind feel loud, busy, angry. Eventually, I settle on black or gray, the colors of absence. Colors that go unnoticed because I am consumed by those that vie for my attention. Regrets like colors, lurk behind the surface, popping up unexpectedly, reminding me to find gratitude for the things I have than the ones I could have had.

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