cautionary tales

Nothing stands out so conspicuously, or remains so firmly fixed in the memory, as something which you have blundered. -Cicero

This statement has nothing to do with the oreo or the table I'm selling. The oreo is simply a pleasure, the table is something I wish I could keep. But as with so many of the other things I've given away, sold, or repacked and hidden in various hiding spots; it is just a thing. And things are just that. I am unloading.

So back to the statement.

I had come across it in Vanishing Acts - Jodi Picoult {beautiful book} the other night while camping. I read it to my mom because it applied to an experience we had earlier that evening when we came across some backpackers who asked us for water at the end of our hike. I would like to tell you here that we willingly watered the wilted. But, I told them no.
The sad truth is we really did have enough to spare. We talked about it the next morning as I used the water liberally to wash my face and brush my teeth. There was nothing we could do at this point, so we tried to laugh it off with a heaping dose of regret. We were both bothered by the fact we missed an opportunity.

This spurred another story I shared with my mom about a man I met in Antigua. He was a resident at the rest home I visited on a COMREL {community relation project} Once a radio announcer, he knew all about the music industry {especially Bob Marley} and had many interesting views on the world he shared with RP2 and I during our visit. His sight was taken at a relatively young age by a condition with a cure, if he had the resources. He had been to a clinic in another country and was turned away for whatever reason they gave him.
It crossed my mind while talking with him to go back to the ship and tell the ophthalmologists about him. The politics of how the clinics were set up didn't allow for this kind of thing to happen. The patients stood in line, got a wrist band, saw a doctor. And in Antigua, the wristbands were rumored to have been sold on the black market for hundreds of dollars. It felt too big to conquer. But even if I had been told no, the point is: I didn't even try. All it would have taken was a simple question to someone. A specialist no less, whom I was on first name basis with, who shared a well equipped hospital ship with me as a home. And I did nothing. At the time it felt like I would have been breaking rules we were reminded of regularly. Asking for special treatment was something I avoided being a female and a 'civi'. But now, sitting here thousands of miles away, with my sight, I wonder if I'll always regret that decision, or lack there of, or if I'll be able to bury the guilt with some more well placed excuses.

After telling my story to my mom I joked, 'Next time I come across the thirsty or the blind, I'll definitely make better decisions.' It's having those types of cautionary tales to tell myself that makes me rethink my stance on regret, and not living with any of it.

My third and final story that really drives it home for me.

As I was making my way home after visiting my parents and my desert, I was at the gas station. Out of cash, and with a new debit card and bank account, but no pin to access it. The solution is obvious: run the card as credit. How many times have I done this just because it is quicker than entering my pin? I don't know where my brain was while I dealt with this molehill.
I bought some Altoids to get cash back. Some strange rule was in place that wouldn't allow this type of transaction at this particular establishment. I was dumbfounded. Now what? I must have looked harried because the clerk asked if there was a problem. I told her that I needed the cash to buy gas to get home. Without hesitating she pulled out thirty bucks from her pocket and had full intentions of giving it to me as a gift. Of course I didn't take it, but I thanked her with tears hiding behind my eyes, and walked out of the store. The solution became glaringly obvious as I got to my car. I felt sheepish and humbled. I cataloged her kindness away to finish off my triptych, if you will, of examples of simple opportunities. '..unto the least of these..' I didn't know this woman, to her I was just another person in line, but she was so willing to help me get home.