Hard to be Both

I don’t have many regrets.

That may sound trite but it’s true. First, I am more likely to regret something I have done than regret something I haven’t.  When I’m in doubt about whether or not to do something I usually do it. Second, I don’t usually regret the maybe-less-than-optimal decisions I’ve made  because I tend to believe that all the flubs and mis-steps got me here, and here ain’t bad. Sort of like that Poi Dog Pondering song, “Thanksgiving.”

But I was thinking about this the other night, trying to come up with some things I regret not doing and I landed on a few.

The first is easy. In the mid-90s I was living in San Francisco with an office job and roommates and a boyfriend. A typical mid-20s existence that I desperately wanted to escape. I wanted to be a real writer, a journalist, an adventurer — really anything that had to do with exotic locations and the romance of words.

So one day I received in the mail an amateurish type-written flier inviting me to join a group of writers, rogues and literary-types for heavy drinking and a  Liar’s Dice tournament in North Beach. It was something close to those exact words.

I held it in my hands, it was printed on sea foam green copy paper.  I was fascinated: not only did I dream of hanging out with writers, rogues and literary-types, but I adored Liar’s Dice. I was good at it. I all but looked over my shoulder as I read the invitation again. Who was it from? How did they get my name, my address? There wasn’t a clue.

The thing I loved most about living in San Francisco was the possibility that anything could happen on any given day. It was foggy and expensive and, granted, I’ve never lived in New York, but San Fransico had glamor lurking on every block, legends both established and emerging and just enough intimacy to throw people together in unexpected ways.

The Liar’s Dice invite vibrated with potential. I pictured a clubby dive bar packed with all the best writers in town, dice rattling and pints draining.

And I didn’t go.

I didn’t even go.