Regret

 

I couldn’t decide which of two opening lines to use for this story, so I’m putting both out there. The priority is strictly alphabetical.

 

'Growing up short, shy, and timid is a rough handicap to overcome.'

 

or

 

'My mother lied.'

 

Sure, all parents lie. Santa Claus; the Easter Bunny; the Tooth Fairy; the moon is made from cheese; bean curd is delicious (hint: it’s not)!

 

The funniest lie my mother ever told was that she used to play center for the Harlem Globetrotters. For those of you who never met my mother, she wasn’t tall or athletic; I doubt she ever dribbled a basketball in her life; she probably never stepped foot in Harlem, and I have serious doubt she was even black.

 

The problem with this lie is when you’re young and hear it, you have no idea what it means or that it’s just a funny tale. Your mother said it so it must be true, no matter how much my sister Janet’s school teacher disputed the story.

 

“You can be whatever you want to be in life,” another lie my mother repeatedly told to us kids as we were growing up.

 

My sisters and I are quite different, as I’m sure most members of your family are. In areas of talent or character, my siblings, from oldest to youngest:

- Nancy is brilliant and has an incredible memory (or just makes stuff up at an impressive rate).

- Janet is undeniably creative and got some of Nancy’s leftover memory.

- Barbara, unfortunately, got the surly gene.

 

Which leaves me.

 

I have parking karma and an uncanny ability to load a dishwasher, but ended up with the short in stature, forgetful, and timid strands of DNA. Thanks Nancy and Janet, you guys had to hog all the good stuff!

 

Despite what parents, teachers, professors, mentors, friends, tutors, or life-coaches tell us, or whatever secret dreams, wishes, plans or fantasies we have locked away in our head, very seldom in life can you be what you really want to be.

 

This can lead to a life of regrets.

 

I doubt I’ll ever be proficient in Hindi, Urdu, or Tagalog. Not that I have a strong desire to learn these languages, but the chances are pretty slim. As it is, I quite often have trouble with English.

 

Despite my past days of heavy drinking, I can’t swill whiskey all night long like Janis Joplin or Frank Sinatra could.

 

I can sling a ‘59 Fender Stratocaster over my shoulder, but I’ll never have that same cool swagger as Bonnie Raitt or Keb’ Mo’.

 

I may be inventive, but not approaching the levels of Nikola Tesla or Steve Jobs.

 

I’ve ridden 1000’s of miles on a bicycle ever since I was very young, but never quite like de-throned 7-time TDF winner, Lance Armstrong. Juiced or not.

 

I’ve crashed my bike a few times while riding those 1000’s of miles, but nowhere near as spectacularly or as painfully as a peloton full of domestiques or sprinters.

 

I listen to music all day long, but I’ll never have the skills of Sonny Landreth, Dave Grohl, or Prince.

 

Growing up, my family owned a piano, but I can’t play it and make you think Jerry Lee Lewis or Frederic Chopin was sitting in front of it.

 

I suffer from severe stage fright, so I don’t see myself commanding an audience the way Lin-Manuel Miranda or Eddie Vedder do.

 

I’ll never have a smile like George Clooney, the body of Shemar Moore, the depth of knowledge approaching Neil deGrasse Tyson, or be 6’2” and hung like Milton Berle. Now there’s something you probably don’t want to think about (and yet, here you are…).

 

I can navigate a kitchen whipping up fluffy scrambled eggs with crabmeat or a tasty coq au vin, but never to the same level as Thomas Keller or Roy Choi.

 

I can weave through traffic at freeway speeds, but not with the same dry-palmed confidence of Dale Earnhardt, Jr. or Juan Manuel Fangio.

 

I’m good with my hands, but could never figure out a Rubik’s Cube or manage to juggle more than one ball at a time.

 

I can hold a baton and wave my arms in the air, but I wouldn’t have the same finesse or effect as Zubin Mehta or Gustav Mahler.

 

Years ago I created numerous glass pieces, but they never reached the beauty and elegance of a Louis Comfort Tiffany or Dale Chihuly.

 

I can string a few words together, but I doubt it will ever be to the high levels of Geoffrey Chaucer or Dr. Seuss.

 

For eight years I owned a very popular deli, but I never matched the success of local restaurateurs, Ralph Rubio or David Cohn.

 

I can fly an airplane, but I’ll never own a fleet of planes like Jimmy Buffett - he currently has six.

 

I meditate on a regular basis, but I can’t quiet my mind to the same insightful depth as the Dalai Lama or Deepak Chopra.

 

I’ve been recognized with several awards, but doubt I’ll ever be thanking my agent after winning a Tony or Emmy.

 

I played tennis for a number of years, but never on my best day would I be able to return a serve from Venus or Serena, let alone hit a backhanded baseline winner against either of them.

 

I pay attention to the news and politics from various sources, but I'll never have a worldview matching that of Emmanuel Macron or Charlie Manson.

 

I can paint a bedroom wall without drips or splatters, but it wouldn’t look the same as if Claude Monet or Frida Kahlo picked up the same brush.

 

I won a dance contest in the 7th grade, but won’t ever be asked to star in remakes of Black Swan or Saturday Night Fever.

 

I’ve taken 1000’s of photographs over the past 40+ years, but can’t threaten the brilliance of Annie Leibovitz or Yousuf Karsh.

 

Despite shipping haute couture to every Costco on the planet, I’ll never have the wealth of fashion industry magnate Bernard Arnault.

 

With all the things I can never do or be, dishwasher loading prowess aside, it would seem as if I’ve lead a pretty sad and depressing life with no notches of success or happiness on my belt, and you’d think I’d have a lifetime of regrets.

 

Not true!

 

I have a long and wonderful marriage with a smart and loving wife. She’s the perfect traveling companion, whether it’s to the grocery store or the far reaches of the Amazon jungle (our next trip!), who shares my love of the outdoors. We never had kids, but our dogs have been our surrogate children.

 

I’ve bought, run, and sold several successful businesses that allowed me to retire before I was sixty.

 

Even though I spent the night in the hospital with a possible heart attack (it wasn’t) and wake up most mornings feeling like I’m rotting from the inside out (I’m not), I am reasonably healthy.

 

I’ve seen 100’s of live musical performances. From Steppenwolf to Steely Dan; Alice Cooper to Wynton Marsalis; Joe Bonamassa to Jackson Brown to Jimmy Buffett; Crosby, Stills & Nash to Neil Young; BB King to Bob Dylan; The Beatles to Paul McCartney, with and without Wings; Diana Krall to Eric Clapton.

 

I’ve hot-air ballooned over the homes of Del Mar, CA and the plains of the Masai Mara in Kenya. I’ve water-skied on a surfboard at 2:00 am in Mission Bay (shit-faced) and para-glided over Torrey Pines (sober).  I’ve seen the sun rise over Tonga and set over Tuscany. I’ve been within arms-length of grizzly and polar bears; lions and cheetahs; whales, sharks and whale sharks.

 

I’ve witnessed the enigmatic beauty of the Aurora Borealis in -30F weather, and marveled at the Milky Way in Death Valley.

 

Despite these highs, having great ideas but being too timid to follow through on them can be costly and depressing.

 

I regret not loading up my portfolio with an online bookstore with an odd name and that wasn’t making money. Being timid kept me from investing, at $8.00 per share, money I was SURE I would lose.

 

I regret I sold all 300 shares of our Home Depot stock during the ’87 crash.

 

I regret, as a young kid, stabbing my sister in the leg with a pencil when she thought I wasn’t holding the ladder for her. I was, and I’m sorry, Nancy!

 

I regret never following through on Mary’s urging to buy shares in Apple back when it was a struggling tech company that financial pundits thought would never survive. I haven’t checked lately, but I think it may no longer be struggling.

 

I currently regret being an American. Dismantling years of conservation; denying climate change; thinking everything is ‘fake news’; insulting Muslims; making divisive comments; daily displays of idiotic tweets; childish and troubling behavior; being a Putin tool and misogynistic fool, or putting a few hundred coal miners back to work on 19th-century technology is not the way to Make America Great Again - not that it ever wasn’t.

 

I have a love and understanding of the ocean, but Kelly Slater or Walter Munk’s is far more extensive.

 

It was, however, my love and understanding of the ocean that brought on my life’s biggest regret.

 

In the winter of 1978 and during the time I worked at The Diving Locker, I was taking the beautiful Coast Blvd drive through La Jolla. Heading south from the Cove, I drove down toward Windansea Beach, named somewhere on the list of world-famous surfing beaches due to its reef break. Because of the contour of the ocean floor, the area is also known for having waves that break right on the water’s edge, unlike most beaches where the waves break further out, dissipating their force as they roll in.

 

When I pulled into the little parking lot on that grey day, I noticed there were no surfers out on the water. The ocean looked like it was on the ‘Heavy Duty’ cycle of a washing machine.

 

It was ugly.

 

A few parking spots to the right of me was a group of five young guys, looking fresh from Marine Corps Base Camp Pendleton, 60 miles north. They were donning wetsuits and scuba gear best suited for a calm bay or lake. Even with the best of equipment, knowledge, and skill, today was not the day to go in the water.

 

As I watched the Marines get ready, it quickly occurred to me I should go over and talk them out of scuba diving at this particular beach and on this particular day – it was far too dangerous and they were far to ignorant of the conditions. But, being short and timid, going up against these five Marines was out of the question. “They’ll never listen to me.” I rationalized to myself.

 

With their gear on, the group of five trundled down the short and rocky cliff towards the water. I still had a chance to stop them, but sat in my car and watched them get battered around by the incoming storm surf as they attempted to make their way out.  With great effort and an ‘Ooh Rah’ mentality, they finally made it out about 50-100 yds. but were still being tossed around in the rough water wearing their altogether inadequate gear.

 

Since I was too timid to talk them out of going in the water, I could at least call the lifeguards before these guys got into serious trouble. A friend happened to live just up the street, and her apartment had a view of the drama playing out in the water. I ran up and pounded on her door. When she opened it I told her to hurry and call the lifeguards and report a group of scuba divers in trouble.

 

A few short minutes later, the red lights of a lifeguard rescue vehicle arrived followed by a second one. As the five divers came to the realization they were in trouble, it looked like they were trying to head back in. Grabbing fins and their bright orange rescue cans, the lifeguards jumped into the water and swam out to the struggling men.

 

One diver made it back in on his own.

 

Two divers were rescued.

 

Two bodies were recovered.

 

Life throws a lot of shit at us that we duck, dodge or deal with on a regular basis. Despite our successes or failures, triumphs or regrets, hold your head high and be comfortable in your decisions, tough as they may be.