Regret

Weekly wisdom to level up your creative life in 3 minutes, for free.

A SHORT STORY

The other day, I was listening to a podcast featuring my favorite poet, David Whyte, and he shared an insight that I can’t shake from my mind.

He said, “Regret is such a deeply unfashionable quality lately. People say you should have no regrets. But, in fact, there is no life you can live without regret.”

This brought to mind a conversation I had with my Dad a few months ago. As he currently navigates Stage IV cancer, I asked him, “What have you been reflecting on?”

His answer was simple: “I wish I had spent more time with you and your sister.”

He didn’t regret that his job didn’t make a bigger impact or that he didn’t go on that one vacation - he regretted the relationships that surrounded him.

But how do you hold such a difficult emotion like regret? And what are my regrets, I wondered? Do I actually feel them?

And if I do, perhaps that can put me in a proper relationship with the future to not miss something. Perhaps that can reorient me towards a better life.

What regrets do you have? How can bringing those to mind shape how you approach your week?

A CREATIVE TOOL

During our third laboratory for (holy) BLOOD we began composing and re-orchestrating the entire film, Santa Sangre. One of the reasons I love working with Mitu is that I am constantly pushed outside the boundaries of my discipline. Our mission to expand the definition of theater through methodical experimentation with form. Often that translates into me having to constantly expand the definition of my practice, as well.

For instance, through this process I was forced to ask - “How do I compose?”

It’s a really useful tool. Instead of saying “I don’t have that skill” ask yourself- “How would I approach learning or using that skill?”

And if you want to see us in action, tickets are on-sale now for our performances May 16th-25th!

A PIECE OF ART

“Tender” by Sophie Klahr

I spend late morning weeping with the news:
a black bear with burnt paws is euthanized
along the latest wildfire’s newest edge.
It was crawling on its forearms, seeking
a place to rest. I Google more; reports
leak out: the bear had bedded down behind
a house, below a pine, to lick its paws.
In hours before its end, officials named
it Tenderfoot, though some reports report
just Tender. Later, I will teach a class
where we’ll discuss the lengths of lines in poems.
I’ll say a sonnet is a little song
to hold a thing that otherwise cannot
be held: a lonely thing; a death; a bear.

Grateful,

Michael