What Will You Regret When You're 80?

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When I was young, my mother worked as an aide in a nursing home. On weekends that she worked a shorter shift, I went to work with her and spent hours visiting with the residents. Sitting with these remarkable people -- all in their 70s, 80s, and 90s -- I was captivated by their stories. In time, I saw a common thread -- regret. Regret over not doing something they wanted to do but didn't because they were afraid of going broke, being ostracized, failing publicly.

The regrets of the women haunted me most. "If I'd been young in different times, I wouldn't have gotten married so young." "If the times had been different, I would have worked for a few years before my husband and I had kids." "If I'd been braver, I would have gone to college even though that wasn't what girls did back then." "I should have gone to college when the kids grew up, but I thought people would think it silly that a middle-aged woman was starting college." They seemed to envy my education -- and my freedom. Their words followed me everywhere I went and in everything I did. The regrets of old women are impossible to forget.

My junior year in college, I decided I wanted to go to graduate school for journalism or publishing. I loved writing and dreamed of spending my life writing professionally and teaching. A Master's degree would serve both ends. Throughout college, my professors told me that my writing and editing skills were more than good enough to get me into the best schools. I didn't believe them. Couldn't believe them. Didn't think a good performer in a really small state school could compete with the best of the best. I was afraid to apply to the school I really wanted to attend -- the best journalism program in the country -- because I was afraid I'd learn I wasn't good enough at the one thing I loved to do. One of my classmates, an ex-Marine and a talented writer in his own right, once told me that he thought my talent was only exceeded by my fear. I'm still not sure about the talent part, but he was right about the fear. 

I applied to several programs, was accepted by all of them, and settled on one out west, convincing myself it would give me what I wanted. My professors and family repeatedly pushed me to apply to that other school, and were mystified that I didn't. When I headed west, I left behind the catalogs, brochures, and notes from my discussions with people at that other school, which were dog-eared, marked up, and pockmarked by hands that had clenched longingly at them.

Three days into my first semester, things fell apart. I discovered how redundant the coursework was going to be, that the very courses I was counting on to make the Master's program different from my undergraduate studies had been sacrificed on the altar of two-year budget freezes. Learned that the admissions advisor had known about this and didn't tell me because his only interest was getting bodies into the program. On Day 4, I withdrew and started packing.

While I packed, I realized that if I didn't get past my fear, this was something I would mourn when I was 80. I called the admissions advisor at the University of Missouri-Columbia journalism school and talked with her for 45 minutes. We worked out an arrangement in which my application package for winter admission needed to be in the following Wednesday (giving me Labor Day weekend to write my essays). As I left town Tuesday morning, I dropped the package into FedEx Overnight; my package and recommendation letters arrived in Missouri on Wednesday, and I arrived for my interview and tour on Thursday. Seeing the campus and meeting the people made me want to go all that much more and the fear increased proportionately. I was a basketcase while I awaited the arrival of what I was sure would be a rejection letter.

Six weeks later, the admissions advisor called me. "I put your letter in the mail, but thought I needed to call you and tell you that you've been accepted. The admissions review confirmed what I'd been telling you all along...your grades, test scores, writing clips, internships, desire, everything, was more than enough to get you in." If I hadn't been so stunned, I would have been profoundly angry with myself for letting fear overtake me.

Four months later, I loaded up my small car and headed west again, driving through a blizzard to reach campus in time for the start of classes. My two years at Missouri were pivotal for me, and nearly every week I had some experience that made me pause and think, "If I'd stayed scared, I would have missed this."

I made sure I remembered the stomach-twisting, head-throbbing, chest-tightening sadness I'd felt when I thought I'd miss out on Missouri, and have used it as my barometer ever since. When the fear is high, this sadness always tells me when the desire and the stakes are even higher, when bypassing today's dream will haunt me when I'm 80.

What will haunt you?

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Whitney Potsus

Comments

[Dawn Goldberg]

Whitney, this was such a great article. We always hear words to that similar effect - "You'll regret it if you never take that chance" or "When you're old, you want to leave the world having done everything you want to."

However, your post was so strong and compelling - I think it will strike a chord with many people who can relate to being paralyzed by fear. I especially loved your recounting of being in the nursing home and listening to the regrets of old women.

Thank you!

[Whitney]

Thanks for the positive, enthusiastic feedback, Dawn.

There's a lot to be learned from our older generations, which much of our society largely misses out on because they don't stop long enough to talk and listen. Potentially, the younger generations could avoid making (repeating) some mistakes -- and reduce the number of regrets they carry -- by listening to the voices of experience.

Thanks again for the compliments. They're a lovely way to end the week.

[anonymouse]

Why, yes, Mr. Genius. Inspiring to the core.

Let's create a Get Rich Quick CD and workbook course and market this! Maybe we can go on tour. Lots of money to be made impassioning others to avoid ejaculating their limitless potential. With your brains and my brawn we can't go wrong.

Maybe we can get Benny Hinn to join in, too.
Throw away those crutches, grandpa, and seize that journalism degree!

[graham]

this is beautiful. thank you so much.