If you were fourteen again ….

There’s a wonderful meme going around Facebook: a youngish woman wearing a gorgeous yellow gown, her hair piled on top of her head, seated on a settee with her arms spread wide in a confident pose. And she says, “I want to be fourteen again and ruin my life differently. I have new ideas.” It’s a brilliant rephrasing of the question we all are asked all the time—if you had your life to live over again, what would you do differently. I usually scroll right on past that question, but this time—maybe it’s the woman with her direct stare--but it got me.

I don’t think at fourteen I did anything to ruin my life. I was too sheltered, too naïve. But my first thought along that line was of the man/boy I fell madly in love with at eighteen—when he was twenty-four. Our two-year relationship was intense, though too much of it was by correspondence while I was away at college. Eventually, mostly due to parental pressure, we parted in a bittersweet moment. There was one time, a year later, when I could probably have rekindled the passion—and I didn’t. That moment has haunted me since. I have carried him in a corner of my heart, all these long years, and I know—because he told me years later—that he did the same. He is gone now, and I feel freer to talk about it, but every time I come up to that thought, one thing stops me: if I had married him and followed him to Florida, I would never have my children. They would have gone to other homes.

And then there’s the question of the man I did marry—ultimately a mistake, though there were good years. Would I do that over again differently, listen to the voices, parental and otherwise, who told me it was a mistake? Given hindsight, the answer is no, again because I would not have the four children I cherish.

And that is pretty much the theme of my life: I wouldn’t change anything because of the children. Yes, there were other men, but none that I felt would fit into the circle that the children and I had—and still have. Do I regret that? Sometimes, briefly, fleetingly. But the reward is always my relationship with my children and the extended family that I am blessed with.

Looking back, I think I am extremely fortunate that there is not a lot in my life I would change. Maybe it makes me dull, but I have few if any new ideas. I stumbled into a good career. Heaven knows, I didn’t think ahead and plan it. If I had, I might have been more dedicated, more proactive. Instead I puddled long at my own pace, so when school children asked me, in class presentations, if I am rich and famous, I told them neither. (I fudged when they asked how old I was.) When I bemoaned my lack of writing success, I remember Bobbi Simms who was part mother/part friend and always kept me grounded. I can hear her yet saying, “Have you ever considered that you have had as much success as you were meant to have?” She was probably spot on. My writing has won enough awards to make me think I’m okay. And beyond awards, I have had great experiences—how else do you get to spend the night at the famed King Ranch or find yourself friends with notables like Texas giant John Graves and Elmer Kelton and Bob Flynn and Larry L. King of “Whorehouse” fame.

And who knew, in my mom’s kitchen, way back when, that her lessons would result n a lifetime of enjoying cooking. What is drudgery for so many is pure joy for me. Wait till I tell you what I cooked tonight—no, that’s for Thursday’s cooking column.

As I age into what one friend calls “eldering,” I am again struck with good fortune. Lord knows, I’ve had my share of health problems, but for now I am healthy, energetic (okay an afternoon nap helps), and still working at what pleases me. The good part is that I never again have to accept an assignment that bores me. In fact, I have just withdrawn from a project that was dragging me down instead of energizing me. Time to move on, and I was free to do that.

I may sound like Pollyanna with my positive outlook, but that’s what works for me. So no, I don’t need to be fourteen again. No new mistakes. But I do like that woman in her yellow dress and hope that her new ideas work out for her. And when I first read her question, I had no idea of the direction my answer would take. Call it stream of consciousness or free writing or whatever.

Have you thought about being fourteen again and starting over with new ideas?