Don’t Let Regret Beat you Down
My favourite memory visiting China last summer was dinner time with my aunt. My aunt had a habit of giving me a lot of food to eat; of course I would complain, but deep down I never minded because I enjoyed our conversations together. My aunt was a gifted storyteller, and each day not only brought new food, but new stories about her life that I carry with me to this day.
During one of our conversations she told me about her childhood living in a small county in rural China. Having visited it on previous family vacations, a picture appears in my mind: rolling mountains coated in lush vibrant greenery. In between these imposing mountains, at their base, lies a secluded plane of land fifty kilometers from the nearest city. It is teeming with human activity complete with a school and a hospital but most importantly at the heart of this county lies a marketplace; it is congested with stalls lined up in a circular pattern around the street and people squeezing past each other to get through. The smell of meat left in the sun and the pungent smell of seafood dominate the air. The sounds of haggling and a day’s sale bombard the ear. There my aunt described sitting at one of the stalls, selling an assortment of homegrown fruit — oranges, pears, and plums — to make money for her family. Oblivious to the chaos around her, she described being immersed in a book, only lifting her head when someone was interested in buying something from her.
When my aunt was younger, in that county isolated from everything else, and long before the existence of the world wide web, reading served as the only way for her to gain knowledge about the world around her. To the chagrin of my grandparents she told me she would read for hours on end every book she could get her hands on, from philosophy, psychology, science fiction, autobiographies to obscure encyclopedias. The impressive breadth in which she read was matched only by her reading speed, claiming to have read a book a day. By the time she was done, night would have fallen and she would forget about studying for her classes altogether. She told me that the knowledge she gained from reading also found applications in helping her with her classes, adapting to life in the city talking to people, writing essays for university and just helping pass the time by herself. Despite the joy that reading brought her, she admired people with great success — the usual suspects of money, a prestigious education and a fulfilling job — and admitted wondering what her life would have been like if she had tried harder in school and gave up reading altogether.
But my aunt has no need to feel such regrets. The books she read were not a waste of time and enriched her life more than money could ever have. Certainly without those books she would not be the person she is today and the knowledge that she enriched my life with would be gone. From this, I’ve come to understand that it is human to wish to have done things differently and beat ourselves up for not having tried hard enough: “I could have done more, I should have done more”. Over time these would haves and should haves build up and weigh us down. Therefore, despite not knowing much, what I do know, and what I feel strongly for is this: you tried the hardest you could; you engaged in activities that you enjoyed, and you lived life the best way you knew how. The things you did when you were younger, the mistakes you made, are all a part of the learning process and make you who you are.
In no time an hour would have passed and I would take the last bite of the food on my plate, and miraculously finish my dinner. Like every time I enjoyed talking to my aunt. She opened up to me, brought me into her life, and there I learned something valuable about life.
