Sometimes I wonder if one tiny aspect of my life were changed, how many other changes would there be?

One example is the house where I'm living. When I first moved to Lincoln, I looked at an apartment only a few yards from my front door, and hated it. If my current house had been for rent, I'm sure I would have noticed it, looked at it, and probably moved in. I would never have lived at 901 D Street. Maybe I would have taken my car to a different place for an oil change, and then it wouldn't have broken down and I'd still have it. Maybe I would have gotten another cat right away, and then I wouldn't have gotten Dwight. Maybe Daniel and I would still be friends, because we wouldn't have carpooled together. Maybe I wouldn't have enjoyed last spring so much, because I wouldn't have walked or biked so much. Maybe I wouldn't have been woken up so often by the sound of my neighbors having sex, or the smell of them smoking. Maybe . . .

This kind of thing could go on forever. It's interesting to think of all the ways my choice to live downtown, and specifically at Apartment D, affected me. But it's just a mental exercise. I can't regret that decision, because I don't really know how life could have been different. Maybe it wouldn't be different at all.

There are only two decisions I've made that I regret. One was to pass up a relationship with someone I really cared about; the other was to move to Lincoln. In the first case, things have turned out fine anyways, perhaps better. In the second case, I can speculate all day long about what life would be like if I'd stayed in Berrien, but I'll never know. What I regret most about those decisions was not the outcome specifically, although both made me very unhappy for a span of time. Instead, I regret how I made the decisions.

I chose out of fear and self-preservation. I coldly weighed the pros and cons, and picked the action that seemed the safest bet, that held the most obvious benefits for me, without really considering which one would make me happy.

I don't usually do that; with big choices I try to consider the issue rationally for quite a while, and then choose the option that I feel most at peace with, that my gut says "Yes" to. I like living this way; it works for me. Even when things don't go the way I'd hoped, I don't look back with regret because I know I made the best decision I could. The "uselessness of regret," as I read in a poem somewhere, is not something I allow to poison my life.

Lincoln still feels like a mistake sometimes. I look around Union and wonder, "How did I get back here? And why am I still here?" But I'm learning lots, growing up a bit, and some things have happened here that I wouldn't trade for anything, that have expanded my world and made me a better person. And I know that, where ever I end up next, I'll make that decision using my head and my heart.

Unless I get rejected from all my schools and, in a panic, decide to join the Army. I'm not sure what part of my body would be responsible for that decision.