I’ve been boasting about a very successful friend who’s become so important in the world of print media that it seems unbelievable. I haven’t been in touch with this girl for quite some time now, yet I’ve been elated at her recent achievement because she seems like one of those few successful people who deserves what she’s got. So when I was overtaken by this
bout of depression yesterday when I saw her pic in the mag she’s now editor of, I felt rather ashamed of myself. No, it certainly wasn’t jealousy, but more like regret – of possibilities forsaken, chances not taken. Somewhere, there was this gnawing feeling in my heart as I read through her edit piece that this could have been me had I persisted, but not anymore.
Here I was feeling all important in my world and there was this girl, who’d made it so big in the real world! I felt small and diminutive in stature and I didn’t like it. Suddenly, I felt I’d given up my place on the top, however far fetched it may seem, to settle for something that seemed important only in such a micro way. It reminded me of my unfulfilled ambitions in the times gone by and I found myself wishing that, by some stroke of luck, my life would change course, go back where my heart was.
It’s been a long time since I rued what I have given up to be where I am. And I feel ashamed that I rued my loss because I compared them to someone else’s gains.