Life Not Wasted

In a conversation with my mother, we spoke about how we waste years with people that are not good for us; failed loves, marriages, relationships that for whatever reason, do not work out. She compared it to being in a prison, literally wasting your days away when you are not happy.

I suppose in a way this is a correct analogy but the more I looked into it, the more answers I found and the word “wasted” just did not seem to fit.

My second marriage failed. We were together 14 years when I walked out and although the years were wasted in the sense that they left me, they weren't wasted in the sense that there was any regret. They were spent loving someone, sharing a life with someone I trusted and believed in, who filled me with hope and illusions of a perfect way of living I had dreamed of for a very long time. At that time, I did not know any better. Whatever he showed me I trusted and believed. There was no reason for me to not be completely submerged into this dream we created together.

And there was also no reason for me to believe that he was living a totally and separate life without me while we lived together, making these same promises and illusions to someone else. This stuff isn't made up and I could still manage to make up much more intriguing stories. It's a good thing this one is true. Nobody wants to look at the stories inside my head.

The point I'm trying to make is that no matter how crappy my life turned out because of the choice I made marrying that particular man, it was my choice at that time in space and for me, it was the right one, therefore, I cannot regret or consider it a waste of time. I didn't know any better. But I believed in my choice.

Factoid: The past does not exist. It's merely a time frame, a snapshot of molecules, of space. It cannot be measured. It is a puff of smoke that drifts by you one minute, getting tangled in your hair, flirting with your skin, then dancing to another face, another skin, here one minute, gone the next, perhaps forgetting who you were or maybe remembering but regardless if it felt anything at all, it is gone and once gone, it never returns. It no longer exists.

That is time, space, the past, the future, which has not found us yet but assuredly coming straight for us. And when in the present, we decide. We choose where we want to be, who we want to be with.

We begin, we love, we end. It's a cycle. And then it starts all over again, just like a clock. The hand is ever moving, ever changing but always remaining the same at some point, coming back to the familiarity it calls home, which in essence, is who we really are, the part of us that we cannot change because it is our character, which makes us unique.

Along those revolving movements, we meet different people, some good, some bad, some that make us better, some that make us worse. And in the interim of all that madness, we live.

Regrets? None. Would I repeat them? Never. I'm not the same person today. I trust less, listen closer, am a bit more cautious. But my heart; the core of my character, remains the same. I love hard, raw and completely or not at all, an extremist in every sense of the word. Call it a character flaw if you must.

But through all this life, I have learned and within that knowledge, I have hidden away some experience that has taught me that years spent with the wrong people were never wasted. They were lived. Regardless of the outcome, you lived.

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