Regret

Recently, in one of those conversations that I stumbled into while on my way somewhere else, someone told me proudly that she has no regrets about anything. I surprised her when I responded that I had many. But how else can I learn from my mistakes if I don't regret them? It's a painful, useful part of life.

A few months ago I was reminded of a decision I made my last year at Wellesley, one I wouldn't hesitate to exchange for its opposite if through some accident of time and space I were given the opportunity. For about ten years I've been involved with a couple of charitable organizations working to improve the lives of those affected by the accident at Chernobyl. These groups bring medical care to children, mostly in Belarus, who suffer from an alarmingly high rate of birth defects and cancer. In an already economically depressed country like Belarus, these kids have little chance of a decent life without external aid. Chernobyl Children International (CCI) is probably the most well-known and well-established of the charities dedicated to this cause. In 1993, the CCI founders produced their first documentary on the effects of the Chernobyl disaster, Black Wind, White Land: Living with Chernobyl. Ten years later, CCI announced the release of a second documentary, this time about the high rate of ventricular septal defect, nicknamed 'Chernobyl Heart', among children born in the Chernobyl region since the metldown. Chernobyl Heart went on to win an Academy Award, bringing international attention to CCI and the children of Belarus, western Russia, and northern Ukraine.

In the spring of 2004, I was nearing the end of my last year at Wellesley. Like most seniors, I spent the majority of my time in a mad rush to finish my studies and plan for my immediate post-baccalaureate future. It wasn't much of a surprise to open up my mailbox one morning and see, in addition to the usual bills and reminders from the college about graduation requirements, a letter from CCI. I was on their mailing list so I was used to the occasional newsletter, but it was the content of the thin envelope that was unexpected: an inivitation to a private screening of Chernobyl Heart at the United nations in Manhattan. The letter requested a prompt RSVP to ensure my security clearance was completed in time.

I immediately responded yes, but soon the the trip to New York looked less and less likely. My ancient Volvo was on its last legs (wheels, I suppose) and I wasn't excited about the possibility of ending up stranded on the side of the road somewhere in Connecticut. I considered the bus, but hanging around Port Authority in the middle of the night was not appealing either. At the time I didn't know anyone in the city I could stay with, nor could I (in my soon to be well-educated and completely unemployed state) afford a hotel. At last I made the decision not to go. I was disappointed, but I didn't see any way it could work.

A couple of days later, I was walking to my dorm from the parking lot after an evening out. I was just starting to cross the road when a car zoomed past, right in front of me. Something flew out of the driver's window, landing at my feet. I picked it up and saw that it was a map of Manhattan, which clearly showed the United Nations and its massive plaza between 1st Avenue and the East River Drive. I don't really believe in fate, or any explanation for strange and unlikely occurrences other than coincidence, but even I will admit it was eerie, and in that moment I felt colder than the early spring night could account for.



Even after this, I didn't go to Manhattan and so missed the screening of Chernobyl Heart. Periodically I've thought about this and felt the familiar sting of regret--if I could go back, I'd borrow a friend's car. Or see if there were any Wellesley alums in NYC who would let me sleep on their couch. Or or or...

It's certainly not the greatest regret in my life, but recently the event surfaced in my memory again, and I can't help but wonder what would have happened if I had gone. Who would I have met? Would I have made connections that could have changed the course of my career, my life? Perhaps it would have had no impact on my future at all. I'll never know, but I'll always remember the choice I made, and refer to it again when I think, "No, that's not possible..."