A collection of thoughts

This post is mostly just a collection of thoughts pieced together based on a conversation I had with my grandmother in the hospital today.

Life carries so many forms of sadness but for me, the greatest form of sadness is unmet expectations. The ones we have for ourselves, for others, or even for life in general. Expectations about money, careers, relationships, or just how things are “supposed” to go. It all turns into regret that we continue to carry, lost hopes and dreams, lost potential, missed opportunities.

Expectations have led me to a lot of self-destruction and isolation. If I ‘expect’ someone to leave, I will push them away until they do. If I ‘expect’ I will fail, I won’t try, but in a sense that is failure in its own way. I regret these the most. The people I’ve lost, and the opportunities I’ve squandered. All my own fault.

I lose so much time thinking about what I could be doing instead of just doing it. Worse, I think I spend even more time lingering on what I could have done instead of accepting it as what now is. Wishing things could be different instead of taking the action to change it myself now.

I’ve been trying to find more ways to find acceptance in the paths I’ve chosen and in that trying to romanticize my life more.

Recently, it’s been a bit hard for me to find joy. Harder to romanticize that I now work a 9-5, harder to romanticize how modestly I live, harder to romanticize that I wake up every morning in the same place, in the same city I grew up in.

I hoped to start pursuing music when I turned 18, but now I find myself 20 with nothing to show for it.

All the women that I grew up around carried so much regret, Even as a kid, I could see it painted across their faces every single day. It was in the way they moved, the way they spoke. And I think becoming that has always been my greatest fear.

Recently, I’ve found myself thinking maybe a husband and child would give me purpose. Maybe marrying rich and living a carefree life as a housewife is the answer. And honestly, that thought scares me even more. It feels like a version of settling, settling for a smaller, quieter version of myself. Putting away my hopes and dreams, my goals and ambitions, for comfort and security.

I was talking with a friend I have on X and he told me this crazy story from his life and while it had a sad ending it was such an interesting and unique experience specific to him. It made me think maybe the key to having fewer regrets isn’t about always getting it right but instead doing enough that, at the end of it all, you can say you really lived.

I don’t think life is supposed to be all happiness. There’s value in the sad moments, the struggles, and the things that didn’t go as planned. Experiences—whether they’re joyful or painful—give life depth and meaning. They shape who we are. Maybe the real regret isn’t in failing or making mistakes but in never giving ourselves the chance to try, to feel, to really experience what life has to offer.