So that’s what my view was on this particular evening; I was fully awake to the preciousness of time. And it just so happened that I had the rare treat of being alone in the car with my fourteen and ten-year-old sons. We were heading to Sun Valley, just the three of us. I was taking the curves of a meandering country road with the pace of a leisurely Sunday drive. The sun was setting and we were talking.
In the midst of a discussion on how to pass his driver’s test, my son heard the first three notes of Anna Kendrick’s “Cups” faintly drifting from the speakers.
“Turn it up, Mom. I love this song!” he exclaimed.
And that’s when he started singing without restraint—like he was alone in the car. Like no one else’s opinion mattered. Like he suddenly discovered the liberating freedom that comes with open windows on a warm summer night.
This is what he sang:
“I've got a ticket for a one way train, the one with the prettiest of views. It's got mountains, it's got rivers, it's got sights to give you shivers, but it sure would be prettier with you.
When I’m gone
When I’m gone
You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone
You’re gonna miss me by my hair
Gonna miss me everywhere
Oh, you’re sure gonna miss me when I’m gone.”
You’re gonna miss me by my hair
Gonna miss me everywhere
Oh, you’re sure gonna miss me when I’m gone.”
Maybe it was the way he sang.
Maybe it was the poignancy of the lyrics.
Maybe it was the recollection of my niece Whitney, teaching us how to do the cup song.
Maybe it was the poignancy of the lyrics.
Maybe it was the recollection of my niece Whitney, teaching us how to do the cup song.
Maybe it was a combination of all the above that suddenly gave me clear vision. With vivid detail, I saw Regret. It was plopped down before me like an old dog wanting a little acknowledgement, a little attention, a little respect. And it wasn’t going anywhere.
With longing eyes, that old dog looked at me, and I could practically hear his persistent line of questioning. “So what are you going to do about me?” asked Regret. “What are you going to do now so I’m not laying at your feet later when your children leave home and you’re wondering where the time went?”
I know I can’t possibly cherish every moment.
I know it’s not realistic to neglect all life responsibilities to soak up their every word and every expression.
I know that telling myself to savor every stage of their childhood is just setting me up for failure.
So what do I do? How do I realistically live life now to avoid the pain of regret later?
And that’s when I looked into the rearview mirror and saw my son's chocolate brown eyes staring back at me. He was still singing at the top of his lungs, but the song was half over. I felt a sudden urgency. “Stop thinking about ‘what if’ and sing! Sing before the song ends!”
There’s a song playing right now, today. And it’s not finished yet; it’s not finished yet. So push aside your hesitations. Sing along so the people you love know that you’re all there and there’s no place else you’d rather be.
And then in about twenty or thirty years, let Regret be someone else’s companion. Because you’ll be looking back on your life with a smile on your face and a song on your lips.
