The Pain of Regret

“The pain of discipline or the pain of regret.” This is a sentence I heard in some “take over your life” motivational videos that you come across on Facebook or something. I wrote this line down and saved it in my notes because I thought I could turn it into some dumb motivational story of my own. I honestly don’t remember when I saved it, but here I am weeks or even months later, and it’s now truly making some sense.

I’m going to try and take you all on a ride here, a ride through a lot of the last year of my life. A year that has been dedicated to the part of that first statement, and a lifetime that has been defined by the last part of that statement.

I turned 40 a year ago. That in itself was a shock to me. Not that I made it to that age, but that I am actually 40 years old. I’m not sure how that happened, I don’t feel 40; then again, I’ve never been 40 so I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like. I for sure do not act 40 years old. And I’m not on par with the other 40-year-olds that I know, no kids, not married, never divorced, none of it. Sometimes I feel like I’m a glorified late twenty something or early thirty something year old. Who knows, just how I feel.

I’ve changed a lot over the last year. I think, hope, for the better. I feel like I’ve become more open minded. I feel like I’ve become a better communicator in conversation. I feel like I’ve learned to listen to other people and really try and decipher what they are saying and respect their point of view. And most importantly, I’ve become more disciplined in my life.

The discipline for me has been mainly by adjusting my lifestyle by fixing what I put in my body and how I treat it. This all started one night in January of this year. I was laying in bed, right before I was going to go to sleep. I was feeling down, because I either couldn’t do some of the work that was being done at my gym that night or I saw myself in a picture or a video and hated what I saw. It was in that moment that I said to myself verbally out loud, “just fucking stop.” I was talking to myself to tell myself to stop eating shitty food, candy, cookies, etc. I knew what my problem was, I was just never willing to accept it, until that night.

I woke up the next morning, and knew that I needed to be more disciplined. I got to work, I took out a sharpie, and I wrote the word “discipline” on a red plastic bracelet that I’d been wearing. I figured that if I saw the word on my wrist as I was about to pop another mini Reese’s peanut butter cup that I might stop. Guess what, it worked. I haven’t had a cookie, candy, or basically anything processed or enjoyable since then. Has there been pain in this discipline? Sure, but result.

In June of this year I went to the doctor for a physical and a check up. I haven’t done that in years. I never did it because I was scared of what I’d hear. At that appointment, I found out that all of my bloodwork came back perfect, and all my important numbers were good. At that time, I wasn’t far off from the lowest weight I’ve been in ten years. The pain of the discipline has been worth it; I’m healthier now than I probably was when I was actually a later twenty something or early thirty something.

Outside of the changes I’ve made for myself physically, I’ve become a lot more emotionally open. I mean hell, I’ve opened myself up on the internet with some very personal stories that have allowed me to feel a little more free, the next part of this entry is more of that.

“Use your past as research and development and watch it become the wind behind your sails instead of the anchor holding you back.” I read this quote on my forty first birthday. This quote tied in the second part of that first statement that I opened this entry with into a tidy little knot for me.

You hear people say to live life with no regrets. I’m not sure if that is possible. I think we all have things that we’ve been a part of that we regret. I’m no different, and I’ve carried around the pain of regret for far too many years. And yes it’s been an anchor for me, it stems from this story.

It was December 2000. I had helped our sister radio station at their holiday concert. It was amazing. I spent the entire day in and out of every crevasse of the Nassau Coliseum. To know me is to know that this was a dream come true. To be in and out of the rooms that the Islanders walked through every day was the coolest thing in the world to me. And there were celebrities everywhere! I was on cloud 9. This was everything I’d dreamed of when I started working in radio. But it was a long day, and I was exhausted.

I got home and went to bed. My father was asleep in the room next to mine with the television on. At a certain point during the night I heard him bellowing my name. I finally got up and asked what was wrong. He said to me. “I think I’m having a heart attack.” I dismissed what he said; at that time, my dad was ill and something was always wrong. Knowing that, and also not wanting to face the reality of what was lying there right in front of me, I responded in the worst possible way. I said, “You’re not having a heart attack, turn the TV off and go to sleep.” A few hours later, my sister woke me. “Vin, get up, we have to go to the hospital, Dad had a heart attack.” We all know what happened three months later.

I never forgave myself for this. I probably never will. I live with this memory every day. I don’t know what would have happened if I believed him. I don’t know how much good it would have done if I called 911 right then and there. Would it have changed what was happening in the moment, no. Would it have given him a couple of more months? Maybe. I’ll never know.

The pain of this regret is something that I’ve lived with every day since. This story is one that I’ve kept close to my chest since then; until recently, maybe one person outside of my family knew it, and after the other day, that number doubled. When I post this, who knows how many people will know it. It won’t change the regret I have from that moment in time, but hopefully putting it out there will let me be a little more free of the things that weigh me down. Maybe taking this story from the inside and allowing it to be known will release this anchor and allow myself to soar a little further.