Missteps, regrets and some things done right
- Mike Dewey: Life Lines
- June 28, 2025
- 412
One of the first things that intrigued me about the woman who would eventually agree to marry me was her taste in music.
When I asked her to name her favorite band, she said, “Traffic.”
This was fall 1987, many years after they’d called it quits. To say that it was merely an interesting choice would be disingenuous.
It was shockingly, wonderfully fascinating to me … a lot like her.
True, I was then — and firmly remain — a music snob of the highest degree, a guy who has no problem dismissing others’ opinions with a figurative (though sometimes literal) wave of the hand, an arrogant gesture that often rubs people the wrong way. It’s not that I think I’m always right … it’s more I actually believe I am.
That explains why I had so many first dates and very few seconds.
That, and the fact I made very little money as a writer and drove a 1969 Chevy Impala, not exactly ideal boyfriend material.
Still, we do what we can to survive in this world.
And at the end, it’s how we lived that matters most. All the nonsense and the wasted time come down to being able to look back with a sense that, in spite of the mistakes, we didn’t do badly.
There’s a book out there titled “The Top Five Regrets of the Dying,” written by Bronnie Ware, a palliative care nurse who devoted part of her life to listening to those with not much time left.
I have no idea how she happened onto that particular subject.
Was it something she imagined, or did an editor or agent come up with it? No matter, I found the Top Five listings quite illuminating:
—“I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.”
—“I wish I hadn’t worked so hard.”
—“I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.”
—“I wish I’d stayed in touch with my friends.”
—“I wish I’d let myself be happier.”
Each entry presents the reader with achingly familiar sentiments, recollections of missed opportunities, chances to have changed the course of one’s lifetime, if only for a moment or two. None of them is particularly difficult to remedy, but none of them is easy.
Let’s consider the one about staying in touch with friends.
I’m especially sensitive to that one since, after nearly 25 years away from home, my wife and I returned in winter 2024.
Faithful readers may recall the re-entry blues I experienced, the way I couldn’t seem to fit in, all the trial-and-error missteps.
Part of it had to do with sheer unfamiliarity with a town I had always known as home. Another aspect was the fact I was no longer a man with a past, just a 70-year-old with lots of questions.
It’s taken some time — nearly 20 months — but I think I’m turning a corner, mostly because I’ve lowered my expectations. Rekindling friendships must happen organically. They simply can’t be forced.
Back to the list, I’d like to focus on item No. 2, the one about spending the vast majority of your life working so hard. It’s the one entry I have the most difficulty applying to my own life.
I never minded going to work in the morning, probably because being a journalist was always something of a privilege, a calling.
In all candor, despite the long hours and the paltry pay, it was fun.
There’s an old saying that goes, “If you enjoy what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life.” I think there’s a lot of truth in that.
Speaking of honesty, let’s turn our attention now to the Chairman of the Board, Ol’ Blues Eyes himself, Francis Albert Sinatra:
“Regrets, I’ve had a few, but then again, too few to mention.
I did what I had to do and saw it through without exception.”
“My Way” is one of those songs that, despite the many interpretations that have been recorded, belongs solely to one artist, now and forever, though I did rather enjoy the Sid Vicious version.
See? That’s the music snob in me rearing his righteous head again.
Back in 1978, when underground FM radio was featuring that rebellious take on “My Way,” I was 23 years old, a year out of college, never thinking much beyond the next concert, the next party, the next ballgame, the next chance to write something good.
I was still ages away from meeting the woman who would become my wife, lots of lessons to learn along the way, always unsure but just confident enough to trust my instincts, my friends, my family.
Which brings us back to Traffic. Here’s a verse from a long song, released in 1971, called “The Low Spark of High-Heeled Boys”:
“If you had just a minute to breathe
And they granted you one final wish
Would you ask for something like another chance?”
Pretty smart stuff, right? No wonder it was her favorite band.
Mike Dewey can be reached at Carolinamiked@aol.com or 1317 Troy Road, Ashland, OH 44805. He invites you to join him on his Facebook page, where music snobs have been known to gather.