There's not much that I regret. There aren't that many things in my life that I look back upon and wish I'd done significantly differently. Of course, I'm far too self-righteous to experience such a feeling as regret too often. Were it any other way, then it would mean that I was wrong more than I'd be comfortable with. It's just not very me. However.... The few things I do regret are big ones. There have been times when things I've done or considered were just plain wrong for me, and they reflect lapses in judgement that I wish had never happened. Most often, they stem from one of my primary flaws: I think too much. I want things to be too perfect, and I want things to make sense to me. If I think that a certain situation is exactly as it should be, then I want a guarantee that things will not change. If they do, then it should only be for the better; things should progress. Only that seems logical to me, and logic tends to be my master.
	Those were actually my mantras when I was an adolescent: Think. Evolve. Logic is key. I'd write them down and constantly remind myself that these things were most important to me. These are the things that matter. In retrospect, I recognize that this was one of my ways of relieving myself of the burden of my unpleasant emotions, and at the time, I had very many reasons for unpleasant emotions. That was my childhood. That was the way things were. Since the age of ten, keeping my emotions in check and letting logic take and retain control has been the way I've dealt with most of my life's unpleasant situations. It continues to be so, because I have yet to see a better way.
	Moving right along.... I've learned some great lessons over the past several years, and it all began with this picture I took with Dawn on Lake Erie the first weekend we actually physically met. In it is a perfect moment, in which everything has finally come together in the best possible way. It's a beautiful day, we're on a dock over one of the Great Lakes, and after nearly four years of merely exchanging words and images with this woman with whom I'd been very much in love, we were finally together, and our renewed relationship with each other had just begun that afternoon... several minutes before the photo was taken. The look on my face is one of utter contentment. For me, it represents an absolutely perfect moment. If my life has had one constant, it is that I've always sought perfection, both for myself and situations which involve me.
	Many people with whom I've been involved shudder to think about it; they say that I should not expect them to be perfect. Truth be told, I do not. I simply strive to be perfect myself, with the desire that if I do my part to have no flaws, to make no mistakes, then the response will be an acknowledgement of that. I refuse to be the weak link, and thus I hesitate to recognize that I've done anything wrong, because I try so hard not to. I eventually do accept that I've been wrong about something, and in the grand scheme, I'm glad when it was made known to me, so that the same thing will simply not happen again.
	I've often recited my new mantra, that being, "just because perfection is ultimately unattainable is hardly a valid reason not to pursue it." As things progress, I have learned that this is not accurate. Perfection is attainable, but it is not something which can be sustained. And it's still not that simple. Perfection is relegated to moments, and it is the moments that are not sustainable. I regret that it has taken me this long to realize that I should not try to maintain one perfect moment indefinitely, when I should really be seeking to establish a series of them. Even if I cannot do that, I should at least cherish each and every one of these perfect moments when they do happen, and simply revel in them instead of worrying about what could go wrong. If I am to dwell on anything at these times, it should be to retrace how it came to pass and recognize how fortunate I am that things turned out that way... and not on what happens when that fleeting time is past. I regret allowing myself to lose touch with the joy of the moment just because I have no control over it. I regret that I've traded what should have been my happiness about the present situation for my concerns over not knowing that it will last. The future is the future, and it shall ever remain as such. I cannot always predict it, despite what the present tells me, and I should learn to accept the unknowable, regardless of how much I want the moment to last forever. Even if it could possibly last forever, I wouldn't know it until the end of time.