No Regrets!

I recently overheard a conversation at a bar between two young men, when one raised his pint glass in encouragement, offering, by way of insight, “Hey, man. No regrets.” The other nodded, responding with an appreciative fist to bump, echoing his consent, “No regrets.”

Hmm, I said to myself, stroking my beard between my thumb and forefinger. No regrets. Live YOUR life with no regrets. Regret ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. Let's see:

To have no regrets means you've either not done anything in your life or not thought about anything you've done. Hmm. Well, now. Where did this Buddhist koan come from? Which venerable thinker contributed this little philosophical pearl to the fraternal vernacular? Essentially, "Live your life devoid of risk, meaning, and self-reflection." Thank you, fucking Socrates. Why would anyone seek solace in No Regrets? Can we just cut through the bullshit and start handing out lobotomies? Pretty please?

Me? I've endless landscapes of regrets. Verdant green valleys spotted with spruce trees and wildflowers making crisscross patterns of blue and red, yellow and white and purple, a thin ribbon of pale blue riverscape snaking through the verdure as small, burrowing rodents nestle in the berry bushes. I've wide swaths of rugged, mountainous terrain wedged between my shoulder blades, tiny sherpas scurrying up the north face of my own private Mt. RegrEverest, quietly documenting my each and every misstep, miscue, miscalculation with their Scottish lamentations and Negro Spirituals.