So, a random thought to kick off the day: I am very much a person rooted in science. I believe in it, I trust it, and I have a working knowledge of how the world operates because of it.
That said, it amazes me how superstitious I (or frankly, anyone) can be. Perfect example? I woke up this morning, did my first Fasnacht of the day before even rolling out of bed, scored a Bigfoot mask—one of a dozen I already own—and immediately muttered, “Well, that’s a sign the day’s going to suck.”
Yes, after all that science I lean on, I’m letting a random event in a video game determine the outcome of my entire day. Logic? Who needs it when you’ve got superstition?
And I know I’m not alone. Plenty of people in medicine—yes, the sciencey folks—are incredibly superstitious. Some things are practically sacred. For instance, you never, ever say the “Q” word in a hospital. Ever. I’ll say it here (only because I won’t suffer the consequences—yet): quiet.
Say that word while on shift and you’re essentially summoning the apocalypse. In rescue, if I didn’t wear the exact right combination of uniform pieces, I might as well have stayed home. It’s not just one or two eccentric folks, either. It’s everyone. And if you’re not superstitious, that’s what makes you weird.
Now, I’m not diving into mysticism or religion here—just making observations, which led to a little more self-discovery. Honestly, I wish I’d had this kind of self-awareness years ago—or if I did, I wish I’d paid attention. I think a lot of that realization is finally coming to the surface now because things are… well, quieter. (See what I did there?)
A few posts back, I talked about regret. I’m starting to understand that it’s my regrets fueling these repeated visits back to the anger stage of grief. I was already expecting a change to happen that morning. Just… not that change.
Fast forward to now.
I’m grieving the life I thought I’d have. I’m battling things I don’t want to talk about—but have to. I want a future I’m not sure is even possible anymore. In more ways than one, I’ve checked out—including in ways I didn’t think were possible. But hey, “I’m fine.”
I know what you’re thinking. Someone out there is already warming up their inspirational pep talk. Don’t worry, I’ll say it for you: You can still have what you want! The chapter hasn’t been written yet! You just need to start writing it! Yeah, yeah. I know all that. But it doesn’t make being shoved into another contingency plan any easier.
I know everything I should be doing. I could rattle it off like a pharmaceutical jingle. Just because it has a catchy tune doesn’t mean I’m buying it.
I hate this spiral of regret and anger that’s defined my grief. I don’t know what I can do differently to stop the regret. I once heard it takes two weeks to form a habit and way longer to break one. What’s done is done. I haven’t popped an Alka-Seltzer in years, so why am I still carrying regret like it’s medicine?
Maybe regret is our brain’s way of searching for alternate routes—like some twisted emotional GPS. The problem is, you can’t wave a magic wand and undo anything. And honestly? Even in the thick of all this regret, there are plenty of things I wouldn’t change. Some moments, however messy, shaped me in good ways. It’s not all doom and gloom—though I admit, this blog might give that impression some days.
I was ready for change. I just wasn’t ready for that version of it. I had a life plan, and now I’m stuck trying to re-plan a future I already planned once. The change came, alright—but none of us were prepared for how.
When I think about regret, I always come back to It’s a Wonderful Life. Jimmy Stewart’s character gets to see an alternate version of his life and realizes that—despite all his struggles—his real life is better. It’s a little like A Christmas Carol too. Scrooge sees a possible future and uses that knowledge to change course. It’s a literary reminder that what you’re experiencing now may not be the worst version, and you still have the power to rewrite the rest.
So yeah, I know how I should move forward. I can parrot the language with the best of them. And for the most part, I’m okay with where I am. It’s different—but not the worst. The problem is, I’m a planner. And when I can’t plan, I stall. Regret creeps in when I find myself wishing the reason for the outcome was different.
That’s the kicker, right? You might want the outcome—or at least something close to it—but you hate the story that brought you there. That disconnect messes with your grief. With your emotions. With everything.
So what can I do?
Honestly, I don’t know. This might just be part of me now. I’ve done a lot of things I don’t regret—and that’s my anchor. I still carry some hope forward. But when a mistake—or a tragedy—changes everything, it’s hard not to wonder if even the good choices were just detours on a road you didn’t mean to take.
Still, there are some things I’ll never regret—my dog, my mom, the way I still get out of bed every day. I owe them the best version of me. And maybe, just maybe, I owe that version to myself, too.
So, a random thought to kick off the day: I am very much a person rooted in science. I believe in it, I trust it, and I have a working knowledge of how the world operates because of it.
That said, it amazes me how superstitious I (or frankly, anyone) can be. Perfect example? I woke up this morning, did my first Fasnacht of the day before even rolling out of bed, scored a Bigfoot mask—one of a dozen I already own—and immediately muttered, “Well, that’s a sign the day’s going to suck.”
Yes, after all that science I lean on, I’m letting a random event in a video game determine the outcome of my entire day. Logic? Who needs it when you’ve got superstition?
And I know I’m not alone. Plenty of people in medicine—yes, the sciencey folks—are incredibly superstitious. Some things are practically sacred. For instance, you never, ever say the “Q” word in a hospital. Ever. I’ll say it here (only because I won’t suffer the consequences—yet): quiet.
Say that word while on shift and you’re essentially summoning the apocalypse. In rescue, if I didn’t wear the exact right combination of uniform pieces, I might as well have stayed home. It’s not just one or two eccentric folks, either. It’s everyone. And if you’re not superstitious, that’s what makes you weird.
Now, I’m not diving into mysticism or religion here—just making observations, which led to a little more self-discovery. Honestly, I wish I’d had this kind of self-awareness years ago—or if I did, I wish I’d paid attention. I think a lot of that realization is finally coming to the surface now because things are… well, quieter. (See what I did there?)
A few posts back, I talked about regret. I’m starting to understand that it’s my regrets fueling these repeated visits back to the anger stage of grief. I was already expecting a change to happen that morning. Just… not that change.
Fast forward to now.
I’m grieving the life I thought I’d have. I’m battling things I don’t want to talk about—but have to. I want a future I’m not sure is even possible anymore. In more ways than one, I’ve checked out—including in ways I didn’t think were possible. But hey, “I’m fine.”
I know what you’re thinking. Someone out there is already warming up their inspirational pep talk. Don’t worry, I’ll say it for you: You can still have what you want! The chapter hasn’t been written yet! You just need to start writing it! Yeah, yeah. I know all that. But it doesn’t make being shoved into another contingency plan any easier.
I know everything I should be doing. I could rattle it off like a pharmaceutical jingle. Just because it has a catchy tune doesn’t mean I’m buying it.
I hate this spiral of regret and anger that’s defined my grief. I don’t know what I can do differently to stop the regret. I once heard it takes two weeks to form a habit and way longer to break one. What’s done is done. I haven’t popped an Alka-Seltzer in years, so why am I still carrying regret like it’s medicine?
Maybe regret is our brain’s way of searching for alternate routes—like some twisted emotional GPS. The problem is, you can’t wave a magic wand and undo anything. And honestly? Even in the thick of all this regret, there are plenty of things I wouldn’t change. Some moments, however messy, shaped me in good ways. It’s not all doom and gloom—though I admit, this blog might give that impression some days.
I was ready for change. I just wasn’t ready for that version of it. I had a life plan, and now I’m stuck trying to re-plan a future I already planned once. The change came, alright—but none of us were prepared for how.
When I think about regret, I always come back to It’s a Wonderful Life. Jimmy Stewart’s character gets to see an alternate version of his life and realizes that—despite all his struggles—his real life is better. It’s a little like A Christmas Carol too. Scrooge sees a possible future and uses that knowledge to change course. It’s a literary reminder that what you’re experiencing now may not be the worst version, and you still have the power to rewrite the rest.
So yeah, I know how I should move forward. I can parrot the language with the best of them. And for the most part, I’m okay with where I am. It’s different—but not the worst. The problem is, I’m a planner. And when I can’t plan, I stall. Regret creeps in when I find myself wishing the reason for the outcome was different.
That’s the kicker, right? You might want the outcome—or at least something close to it—but you hate the story that brought you there. That disconnect messes with your grief. With your emotions. With everything.
So what can I do?
Honestly, I don’t know. This might just be part of me now. I’ve done a lot of things I don’t regret—and that’s my anchor. I still carry some hope forward. But when a mistake—or a tragedy—changes everything, it’s hard not to wonder if even the good choices were just detours on a road you didn’t mean to take.
Still, there are some things I’ll never regret—my dog, my mom, the way I still get out of bed every day. I owe them the best version of me. And maybe, just maybe, I owe that version to myself, too