Regrets

Regrets, I’ve had a few

But then again

too few to mention

My Way…written by Paul Anka

     sung by Frank Sinatra

When this song first streamed through the radio, I thought, “What an arrogant S.O.B. to bulldoze his way through life with few regrets.” With time and maturity, I have altered my view of regrets. I’ve seen that many of my former mistakes led me to become the person I am, and enjoy the life I have today. I’m happy with both. It’s only with hindsight that I see the blessings hidden in the disappointments I experienced.

Years ago I attended a women’s retreat in Santa Barbara. Something the facilitator said has stuck with me. I paraphrase but it went something like this.

You are enrolled in a full time school called life, and the purpose of this school is to learn lessons. You must repeat a lesson until learned. Once you have learned a lesson, you go on to the next lesson.

We all have a path to tread. So now I see that the blunders I’ve made taught and strengthened me.  I also believe in the 90-10 principle. Ten percent of incidents that happen, I have no control over. The other ninety percent depends on my attitude and that I do have control over.

In my old age, I can honestly say I have just one regret. I regret any pain I have caused another with my words and/or actions. I can’t undo the past but I can be ever vigilant to not repeat it.

My Life in Dance

The clickity-clack of black patent-leather tap shoes

On polished wood floors in a Brooklyn loft.

Step, shuffle, ball change,

East Side, West side.

Friday night dances in the gym

A multi colored cellophane disc slowly turns

And casts romantic shadows on the teens below.

Lindy hop, mambo and cha-cha-cha

Sunday afternoon tea dances at the Y.

Girls sit along one wall and

boys stand in groups along the opposite.

Waltz, fox trot and rumba.

Mini skirts and white leather boots

You never touch your partner.

You don’t need a partner

Just get up and dance.

Twist, mashed potato and swim.

Mirrored ball rotates above

Flowered bell bottoms and platform shoes.

Saturday Night Fever

And do the Hustle

Then decades of unintelligible lyrics

And atonal noise that passes for music.

Saved by afternoon “senior” dances

With a three piece local band.

Fox trot, waltz, swing and cha-cha-cha.

Back to my tap dance roots

With the Central Coast Follies

on stage at the Clark Theater.

Step, shuffle, ball change.

S’wonderful.

When joints cry out “No more,”

I sit out the dance and watch.

But my feet still keep time

Under the shroud of skirt.