Have you ever done something that just made you dislike yourself? I mean really, really dislike yourself? Something that came from a place that you didn’t know existed? And you found yourself questioning who you are?

Let me explain. The inimitable Kate has begun a blog carnival of sorts, and I’ve been invited to play (or write, as it were) along. Today’s theme?
Regret. Or lack thereof. Either works.

As I was thinking about what today’s post would say, this incident dredged itself up from a dark, murky, ugly place. A place that I wish never existed.

What I did, back then, over twenty-five years ago, isn’t important.  At least not in the sense of who, what, or where.  And I don’t mean to be cryptic. But while it might cast a shadow over the sunshine that I usually radiate (ha!), I doubt the story would shock anyone.   The more important thing is is how I feel, and have felt, about what I did many years ago.

And the most important, obviously, was how I made someone else feel.

It wasn’t criminal, it wasn’t immoral. It might not even bother some people.  Folks at postsecret might not even bat an eye.  But it was mean-spirited, and hurtful, and I shouldn’t have done it.

And that? I will regret for the rest of my life.

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