A Cup of Coffee with No Regrets
Facing and Forgiving Regrets of the Past
In my Hospice work, people sometimes tell me, “I’ve lived a good life, and have no regrets.” When I hear them say this, I feel happy for them, and a little envious too. I’m happy because they’re at peace with their life, and envious because I actually have regrets, and a list of nagging “coulda-shoulda-woulda” moments that seems to grow larger with age.
So I’m impressed when people tell me, in calm and confident tones, that they are not haunted by past mistakes, not even when their own end-of-life is looming nearer than ever. It’s not that they’ve made no mistakes, or don’t wish that they had done things differently than they did - they are human after all. It’s that they’ve somehow come to terms with the things they’ve thought, or said, or done, for which they’ve later felt sorry.
What I sense from them is a wonderful ability to look honestly at their past, to face their mistakes, to make amends where possible, and to forgive their younger selves and reality for being what they were. And then to move on.
That’s the kind of wisdom I hear from ordinary people. It’s the wisdom I wish for my own life too.
James Baldwin said, “Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.”
Desmond Tutu expresses similar ideas in his book, “No Future Without Forgiveness.”
And what does coffee have to do with this?
Each morning I pour hot water over freshly ground coffee settled in a paper filter. The water extracts the goodness of the coffee with its subtle notes of flavor, while the filter catches the gritty sludge of bitterness, so that the brew passes cleanly into my cup.
And I say, “Ahhhhh, yes! The sweet beverage of the gods!”
Maybe facing the gritty sludge and bitterness of our regrets really does allow for change. Maybe the sins of our past can be filtered out of our present, while the lessons they offer pave the way for forgiveness and a better future. Maybe this sort of reflection is also true and useful for people like us. Perhaps for cultures, systems and societies, too. And for wherever and whenever the gritty sludge and bitterness of personal and corporate regrets are intentionally faced and eventually forgiven.
