I was so naive then, wasted so much time not understanding what adds value to life. Never once stopped to think; should I be doing this? Months thinking of how others thought of me. Years of futile worries, depending on my anxiety. A decade spent scrolling through my phone. 

I should have read more, watched less, created art, bought nothing. I could have dated more people, made more friends, lessened self-importance, and volunteered on the weekends. But instead, why not sit around creating good excuses? 

A joke should have occurred every 10 minutes, and why did I ever get mad? Didn’t I understand I would soon be dead? 

Back in college, I had everything provided, food, school, housing; except a job which I didn’t need. Should have realized my privilege. That most of the world would never attend a university. 

My grandmother could have told me this, if I had visited her. When she wrote me those letters I should not have relayed or phoned the thanks, I should have taken the time to write her back. 

Why did I ever argue with my parents? They provided me with everything and where was my thanks? Growing into adulthood I cut short of my responsibilities. I should’ve taken the drive to rake their leaves, clean their car, and sat down to talk. Instead, I gave them the weekly Sunday call; nothing more than sending the paper. 

Why did I marry so quickly; are we really right for one another? Who was I to make my issues the problems of another person? Did I raise my kids to become themselves or who I wanted them to be? Why did I stop trying new things, going to new places, and meeting new people? I could have brought more joy to my parents before their death, or even joy to mine. I guess my kids will be just like me.