Regret is Self-Rejection by Another Name

In honor of my first novel’s first anniversary, here’s an excerpt, a reflection on parenting, and a massive discount!

“Regret is really just a way of denying our ordinariness.”

I wrote those words more than two years ago, in the first draft of The Unhiding of Elijah Campbell. That sentence survived multiple rewrites and made it into the book, which was published a year ago this week. And what a year it’s been! Elijah has received a bunch of critical acclaim:

• WINNER: Illumination Book Awards

• WINNER: American Fiction Awards

• WINNER: Readers’ Favorite Awards

• SILVER MEDAL: Nautilus Books Awards

• FINALIST: Foreword Indie Book of the Year

• SEMIFINALIST: Carol Awards

I’ve heard from many readers that the scenes in which Elijah draws upon “the magic of memory and the mystery of imagination” to have conversations with his lost loved ones have been particularly impactful. In the following scene, Elijah is sitting on the front steps of his mother’s house, and talking with his beloved grandfather.

“You never struck me as the spiritual type, Grandpa. I mean, I know you went to Mass on Saturday nights, but I always figured Grandma was making you. You were such a practical guy. I didn’t think you had much use for such things.”

He nods in agreement. “You’re right, you’re right. I didn’t. But everything is spiritual, Eli. It just takes some of us a little longer to figure that out than others. I have to admit, I was a slow learner in that regard.”

There’s not a trace of regret nor guilt nor self-condemnation in his voice. He’s simply stating a fact, and he seems to be completely at peace with it. I can feel my soul rumble with hunger pangs. The fast food may have satisfied my stomach, but my heart is wanting more of whatever is nourishing my grandfather.

“You say that with such acceptance, Grandpa. As if you are totally okay with having spent your years here unaware of something so important. How is that possible? I can’t let myself off the hook for a single day of regret, let alone a lifetime.”

“Well, that’s the thing, Eli. I don’t regret it.”

He pauses as he ponders what to say next, his breath whistling softly through his nostrils.

“You see, regret is really just a way of denying our ordinariness. It’s a way of pretending we aren’t, all of us, always growing and evolving and learning. It’s a way of insisting we should be finished when, in reality, all of us are always in process.”

He looks into the distance, and it’s clear he’s looking backward into his own life.

“I liked to solve problems because solutions felt like conclusions. I was always so eager to be done with things. And it took being truly done, if you know what I mean,” he laughs at his own dark humor, “for me to learn that nothing is truly finished. We think death is an ending, but it’s just one more step in the creative process. Now that I’m on this side of it, I’m no longer concerned with arriving at the end of the journey. I know I’m still traveling. Somewhere. Everywhere. The living have a hard time releasing their attachment to completion in this way. The few who do, they’re the truly humble ones. I guess you could say, humility isn’t modesty about having arrived; it’s the acceptance that you never really will.”

When I read those words now, they bring to mind Aidan graduating from high school last year. For me, it triggered a lot of self-reflection. And self-rejection. It was easy to wish I’d done things differently. Gotten less distracted. Paid closer attention. Kept my priorities straight. Stayed calmer. Laughed more. When I pictured the dad I wished I’d been, though, I realized I was picturing something pretty unrealistic.

I was picturing a grandparent.

There’s a reason grandparents are so awesome. They’ve done it before. They’ve learned their lessons. My regret was really a way of rejecting that I was just an ordinary guy, trying to figure out how to be twenty-something with a kid for the first time, and then thirty-something with a teenager for the first time, and then forty-something with a launching adult for the first time. Regret is really just a way of wishing we didn’t have to learn. It’s believing we should be able to arrive without first traveling the road. Regret is fooling ourselves into thinking there’s such a thing as arriving.

Regardless of what you’re looking back at and rejecting in your own story today, I hope you’ll give yourself a little grace.

If you’d like to read more of the novel, there’s never been a better time to pick up a copy. It’s 30% off at Amazon. I’m not sure how long that will last. And in honor of its anniversary, you can get the audiobook for a whopping 75% off through November 10!

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I’d love to hear your thoughts about the excerpt above, the parenting reflection, or the book in general. Please feel free to leave your reactions in the comments!

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