Life without regret

When I was 18, I decided to live without regret.

I acted as if I had six months left to live.

Seriously. Every potential new adventure, I’d ask myself, “If I had six months left to live, would I regret not doing this?”

There was, in no particular order: Kalimantan (which you may know as Borneo), Moscow, St. Vincent, Dominica, driving to Mexico to study Spanish, and many more. Even a university degree, and work as a political activist and as a tree planter.

Most adventures were sublime. With a few, “challenging” was a polite euphemism.

It was fun. I felt … alive in a way I didn’t when I was living my normal, Canadian life in Saskatchewan.

Yet the weight of societal and family expectations grew heavy. At 25, it was time to grow up.

As I was figuring out my future, I embarked on a final adventure.

I booked a ticket to Puerto Vallarta and found a clean hotel that charged $10 a night.

I was set.

Customs were a breeze. All went well until I checked in to that hotel.

My room was tiny, and sparse. Cold yellow tile floor. No tv. It reeked of bleach. Very clean, and … depressing.

I felt like I was going to cry. Now I do not cry. In all my adventures, I never cried. I’m strong. Crying is for the weak. Yet I knew if I stayed in that room, I’d burst into tears. That couldn’t happen.

I went for a walk.

A man on a street corner asked if I wanted to spend the day at a fabulous resort. All I’d have to do was attend a short presentation.

I saw him for what he was. A timeshare salesman. Normally, I would’ve walked past.

I asked, “does the resort have a pool?”

He assured me the resort had a beautiful pool.

I could picture me there: in my blue speedo, book in hand, lazing on a lounger.

We arranged for a car to pick me up the next morning.

At 8:00, I was ready. The car arrived, and whisked me to the resort.

Once there, I was escorted to a table in the breakfast room. Soon I was joined by a young woman from Minnesota. I learned both our ancestors were … Vikings!

I had a new friend.

We sat through the presentation. We talked.

She took me on a tour. We walked past the beautiful pool, and stopped in a studio suite. It was … beautiful, far from my little room.

We returned to our table and talked.

She asked if I wanted to check my credit rating.

How could I refuse? That was a new experience in and of itself.

Jose came to take my card. “Credit card check” he loudly proclaimed as he walked across the room to the door, flashing MY card.

We kept talking. Time lost all meaning.

At some point, Jose was back. His voice boomed “Triple A Credit Rating” as he strode across the room. He stopped in front of me and clapped.

I flushed with pride.

At 4:00, without even having sat on a lounger, I was in a small room with Dan. My head was pounding so hard I could hardly think. We quickly signed the contract for MY timeshare, using that credit card for the deposit.

Dan gave me a copy, and returned my card.

They’d had that card nearly the entire day.

As I left the resort, I felt like the biggest fool alive. How could I have fallen for that? I didn’t want a timeshare. I knew better! And … it wasn’t even my credit card. It was my parents’.

I’d never felt so badly before. I just wanted to go home.

The next week was excruciating. All I could think of was the timeshare that I didn’t even want. It ruined my vacation.

Once home, I met with a lawyer. She told me: “Kim, the jurisdiction’s California. Don’t worry.”

I worried. I cancelled the credit card.

The timeshare people would call my parents’ number for payment. After a few calls, we started telling them I’d taken a vow of poverty.

After all, I was returning to school: law school.

I never wanted to be taken like that again and had made my career choice. I was growing up.

I felt ashamed about my “why law” story, and never shared it.

Adults don’t make stupid mistakes. Well … we do, right?

Making mistakes is part of being human. Yet we pretend it’s not. 

We feel ashamed about our mistakes, and don’t talk about them. We think that will make it all go away.

It doesn’t. In silence, shame grows and creates unintended consequences.

For some, it’s an addiction.

For me, it was anxiety. Everything I did, I was sure I’d just made another big mistake. Shame undermined all my successes. Graduating from law with distinction, working as the deputy registrar of land titles, successes in court. I could never enjoy any of them. Anxiety walked by my side.

Then … I broke the silence. I began sharing this story.

In talking about it, I could see the anxiety for what it was. I began to heal.

I realized a life based on shame is the antithesis of living without regret. Since that experience, it was almost as if Kim had stopped living.

With sharing, I’ve had a revelation.

At the resort, I held out for nearly eight hours. Yes, I was played, but I was not an easy mark. That’s worth celebrating.

Truly. I was 25 years old, and I held out for nearly eight hours. That’s remarkable.

Being played, that’s just part of being human.

We all know what that means. Sometimes we simply need help remembering it. Remembering. Breaking the silence and speaking about those experiences that caused us shame … that is the path to living a life without regret.