I Don't Regret

Non-Fiction Story by J.B. Polk

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I was on my way to Domenica, an Italian restaurant to celebrate my 60^th birthday, where my two adult children and a group of friends were already waiting when Edith Piaf began singing “Je Ne Regrette Rien” on the radio.

It’s paid, swept away, forgotten,

I don’t care about the past

I set fire to my memories

My troubles, my pleasures

I don’t need them anymore…

As the song continued, I reflected on the incredible journey that had brought me to this milestone celebration.

The question now was: did  I regret anything? Anything at all?  For the next five minutes, while I sat stuck in a  traffic jam,  with the song over but still reeling on my mind, I questioned myself how I truly felt.

I could honestly say I had no regrets about missed opportunities or unfulfilled goals, but there was a twinge of disappointment that I would never encounter certain things in my 60s. No regrets for the past but sadness for the future… Sorrow for stuff that would never happen because first experiences cannot be replicated. Feeling down because of everything I wouldn't undertake again.

And, as ridiculous as it sounds, my first and deepest concern was... never again adopting a puppy! Never again feel the pure love and joy of raising a furry companion from their early days. My 13- and 14-year-old dogs were still going strong despite their milky eyes and slow movements and, with luck, would be there for me a few more years. But I knew I'd never risk bringing home a puppy only to die at the age of seventy, leaving them behind with no one to care for them. I'd seen enough of those "old age owner surrenders" while volunteering at a local shelter. And, with two globe-trotting children with demanding careers, I  couldn't make a commitment on their behalf.

Next came the realization that, despite my many accomplishments, I wouldn't be able to feel the same rush of doing things over because nothing can ever compare to the thrill of watching the sun rise over Machu Picchu or diving into the crystal-clear waters of the Great Barrier Reef for the very first time.

I wouldn't be able to feel the same passion and excitement I felt when I saw my name emblazoned on the cover of my first book. Sure, there would be a sense of success and satisfaction, but the novelty and awe that comes with experiencing something for the first time would be absent. Because every fresh encounter provides its own set of sensations, and the initial wonder cannot be reproduced.

When I finally maneuvered the car out of the busy highway into a side street and pressed the accelerator to recoup lost time and arrive at the restaurant with a modicum of lateness, I kept thinking about the song and my regrets for the things I’d never go through again, at least not to the same extent.

But even though I knew the initial thrill would be gone, I realized I had the power to do and feel things on a whole new level! True, there would never be another puppy peeing on my slippers or digging up my freshly planted zucchini, but I could adopt the shelter's oldest, saddest dog with the milkiest eyes and deafest ears, giving it a second chance at happiness. Because while adopting a puppy would be fun, bringing that elderly dog home was a gift. To me. To them. Talk about having the power to make things happen!

And, while I might never get the same adrenaline fix as I did on my first roller coaster ride, I could still seek new adventures and find joy in other elements of my life. With my discal hernia, I couldn't go bungee jumping, but I heard of a beach in Costa Rica where turtles come ashore to lay their eggs, and volunteering there would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a sexagenarian.

As for climbing Kilimanjaro, the sole ambition that had eluded me for one reason or another, I could still travel to Zanzibar and sit at the foot of the mountain, marveling at its grandeur and reflecting on my life's journey.

I finally arrived at the restaurant festooned with balloons and garlands. And although I have seen 59 such previous occasions come and go, I realized they were never the same. It became apparent I could always find something special in whatever life threw my way.

I blew out the candles on my cake, surrounded by my loved ones, feeling grateful for the memories I had created and the ones yet to come.

"No, je ne regrette rien. Ni pour le passé, ni pour l’avenir," I sang in my head instead of Happy Birthday.

“I do not regret anything. Not in the past and not in the future!”

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J.B. Polk, born in Poland, has embraced a global identity by choice. Her literary journey began with the short-listing of her first story for the Irish Independent/Hennessy Awards in Ireland in 1996. After returning to the world of fiction writing in 2020, she has achieved remarkable success, with over 80 of her stories, spanning across various genres such as fiction, flash fiction, and non-fiction, being accepted for publication. Notably, she recently secured 1st prize in the International Human Rights Arts competition.