What Now, Bill?
This will be the last post I make “about” me. Every author I’ve read seems to leave at least a few clues as to what they’re about in their writing, even if the piece has absolutely nothing to do with them. If one is paying attention, it is often not too difficult to determine what they might be revealing about themselves, so if anyone wants to know anything about me, they will surely be able glean a thing or two in future posts. As it is my intention to make this the last one in which I explicitly talk about myself—yeah, I know, I hear you cheering—I’m not planning on pulling any punches. (It might surprise any readers of my blog that I edit anything, but rest assured that there have been many instances where I’ve pulled back from a point, or even yanked a piece in which I worried that I had gone too far, “Little Lyin’ Man” being the most recent example. That one is still posted at billrobertson.online if there is any interest in reading it, but it is not available anywhere else; not even “on the Twitter.” So if any are wary (or weary?) about what I might have to say in this one, stop reading now. For the brave (or masochistic) souls who have come along on this journey, thanks for the company. Let’s get to it.
Because I am going through some things. It’s not anger, really; it could be depression, or perhaps simple frustration. Could it be regret? Yeah, it could be indeed, which is ironic to me because I had thought I had lived my life taking risks so that I wouldn’t have any of those. I didn’t want to be one of those guys who gets to the end of their life and sighs regretfully, wishing I’d done some things differently. I decided to pursue a career as an actor because I didn’t want to regret not trying to be. At the age of 20, I started a letter-writing campaign to some twenty or thirty college fencing coaches, looking for a scholarship, because I didn’t want to not do that and regret it after paying my own way through school, when I might have avoided it. That same year, I boarded a bus for California, leaving home with a bike, two boxes of clothes and books, and a shoebox with some sandwiches, trying to keep myself from wishing when I was older that I had moved to the West Coast. Keep in mind that these are just the choices I made in the span of about a year and a half, not even getting into the other forty-odd years filled with options that I’ve lived through. Those three in particular, though, should have absolutely minimized the level of regret I’m experiencing at this time. There are one or two major choices I made along the way that I truly regret, but the three just mentioned should have made me a lot less wistful than I am for how things have gone.
Looking back, however, is much easier to do than visualizing the future, especially late at night when one is supposed to be sleeping. Mistakes and lost things just wait for the lights to go out, and then they are on you. Like John Irving said, “You think you have a memory, but it has you.” And my memory, more and more, won’t let me go. I mean, I guess it isn’t all bad; at least I’m not senile. Yet.
Every Day Is a Kind of Struggle
While I am happier today than I have ever been, there are still things that weigh on my psyche oft-times, and those concerns really make me wonder if I have just wasted my entire life up till this point. Take the first decision of which I spoke, above, in making the choice to devote my life to being an actor: I am so glad I went for it and tried to make it! Not only did I find a certain amount of success; I found that I really loved that work, meeting some wonderful people along the way and having some incredible experiences. While I loved being an actor, I’m finding that I’m really digging the guitar, so much so that I’m sort of kicking myself for not maybe trying to do that instead when I was 20. Or choosing instead to be a writer, something that is clearly needed in Hollywood and everywhere else; they seem to have plenty of actors, you know what I mean?
That’s the thing about life: life is choice. When you start out, you can do nearly anything you want. You just can’t do everything. Choices have to be made, and as soon as you make a choice, you realize that there are now some choices that are no longer really open to you. Not choosing allows time to pass, and you might realize that you no longer have certain choices available because you waited too long to choose. Vicious. On the other hand, making a choice sometimes results in finding out you have a few different options that weren’t there before. When I chose to move to California at the tender age of 20, meeting my future wife Maureen became a possibility, and I never would have met her if I’d stayed in Michigan. I feel like we were destined to be together, though, so perhaps I’m wrong about that; seems a lot less likely at any rate. Even there, on the subject of Maureen, I have found I have regrets. She poured her heart out to me, and not believing I was good enough—or some equally stupid reason—prompted me to walk away from her back in 1984, and you can bet I’m kicking myself for that. That decision led to a lot more regret, but how could I know? Only hindsight is 20/20.
Instead of sticking with her, I tried to focus on getting the training I needed, and making one romantic mistake after another, eventually ending up in marriage #1 some years later; I’ve been told that me and the first wife were not a good match, though that little tidbit was not shared with me until a good eighteen soul-sucking years had passed. Bet she’s feeling some regrets, am I right? It was my choice, though! I chose to get married after a too-short courtship, I decided to leave the acting profession so I could support my young family better, and I went along with her desire to move to Florida to buy our first house. (Just so we’re clear, these were all terrible decisions.) I’ve made friends along the way, though, so at least I have a lot of people to talk to about my regrets or whatever. Or I would if I ever talked to any of them. I think they’re all incredibly tired of listening to me bitch.
Throwing it All Away
I know myself pretty well, so I’m sure there has to be at least a part of me that hopes some might read this and be prompted to reach out and reassure me, but I am not consciously shooting for that result. As the years and the pandemic have worn on, I have become resigned to the fact that I am a terrible correspondent, live too far from everyone I know, and have grown too different over the years from everyone I used to know. I don’t seem to have much in common with anyone anymore, which sometimes depresses me, but I’m still happy in my life for the most part. I’d be thrilled to get together for jam sessions with friends who play instruments, or literary conversations and discussions about film and social issues with those interested and interesting souls, but I live so far away from everyone and don’t really connect with many of the people with whom I grew up, so that seems unlikely. Nevertheless, I’m not writing this so I get five hundred private messages on Facebook Messenger.
It would be my preference to just acknowledge I have regrets, am living and loving my current situation, explain what I’ve been going for my entire life, and then get happily back to a book or a movie, one of my guitars, and the love of my life.
Oh, yeah, I finally got it right in the relationship department. That was not always the case. Many was the time that I picked the wrong person for the right reasons, the right person for the wrong reasons, or simply did not possess the psychological tools to be equipped to deal with anyone romantically. In fact, it’s my guess that a psychologist would determine that I was often in that state, so getting involved in a relationship was probably a mistake. As a result, me being me, I made that mistake all the time, so I have regrets. The ones I should have stayed with, and the ones I should have stayed away from; the work I ought to have pursued, as well as the jobs I should never have taken.
But I’m tired of feeling this way, especially when I’m so happy in my life. These choices made me who I am, for good or ill, and I am where I am, doing what I’m doing, living with she whom I treasure beyond all else, and I realize that I didn’t waste my time or my life, making bad choices at every turn. I did a lot of great things, learned a lot about my self and the world, and this journey has made me happy. Are there things about my current reality that I might wish were different? Absolutely. I wish I had a better relationship with my son Alex—actually, any relationship would be good—and that I could hang with my friends from the college years once in a while, but I’m not going to let those wistful feelings destroy my happiness. I was thinking about my regrets and how they used to make me feel like my life was such a waste, but I’m not going to waste any more time on those regrets. I’m going to pick up my guitar and keep working on the chord changes for “Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau” instead.
Cheers!
