At The Cobblestones Of Regret
“You act, my boy, you act,” came a voice, even though there was nobody around.
As Edward stood at the cobblestones of regret, he found he had no real regrets. Save for one poignant one — that he hadn’t seized the horns of life enough and had given in to timidity and a comfortable, albeit lacklustre, life.
But what would an exciting life be like? He thought to himself.
In the end, he concluded that all lives are much the same — from plumber to celebrity. The only real difference being how much money is at your disposal. The plumber fixes pipes and central heating, while the celebrity makes a fool of themselves in public.
Two sides of the same coin.
The only real rub being: have either truly embraced life?
Edward mused on this for a moment, then asked himself:
Have I toppled social conventions and said “be damned with it”?
Have I cast aside the shackles of belief and dogma, and beaten my own path?
Have I found the true me within and marched with the winds of time, merrily indulging in the vibrancy of simply being alive — like a glorious beast without a care in the world? ...(save for looking out for the next meal and a slurp of pure water from a mountain stream).
If not... and it was a definite “not”... it seemed like a waste of precious time on this Earth.
But it was by no means too late.
As the setting sun cast its amber rays upon the cobblestones of regret, Edward vowed to himself that he would start henceforth to actually live.
To be like a tiger of the night, following its path, being true to itself. Never deviating from what it truly is.
The question was: what did he really want?
Edward realised he had no clue.
In this first moment of potential emancipation he knew that he was perilously close to falling back into his old, moribund habits. To tumble back into conformity and lifelessness. To be cemented again into the staid drudgery of perpetual mundanity.
Then he realised that self-absorption and analysing was mere procrastination to put off living — until death itself came along to take his dulled-soul to the land of regretful despair, the purgatory of what could have been.
Yet he still didn’t know what to do.
Endless thinking was a dead-end street.
But what do you actually do if you don’t think?
“You act, my boy, you act,” came a voice, even though there was nobody around.
So Edward decided to act.
But nothing happened.
He took two steps and for the life of him still had no idea what to do.
At that moment, the voice came again:
“Simply walk. Feel the cool night air on your cheeks. Breathe in the lush scents of lavender and honeysuckle. Hear the sounds of the birds preparing for slumber. Live, my boy, live.”
So he did.
He walked and walked and relished the sensory stimuli — memories of his boyhood in Warminster flooded into his mind... the last time he’d truly felt the sensual ecstasy of life.
He then recalled how his life’s path had gone from there.
He’d completed his schooling with good grades, then muddled through university studying economics, feeling little zest for life due to blindly following conformity.
Then he went on to his career in the City. It was a plodding path, but he slowly managed to rise up the ranks.
The next thing was marriage and kids, and most likely, assuming the world didn’t end, there would be grandchildren.
Who could want for more?
Stability. A reasonable-enough relationship. Offspring.
The problem was some part of him did yearn for more.
It was then he remembered an incident a long time back where he could have gone off the rails.
In other words, the time he had a brainstorm.
One evening after work he went to the Coach & Horses in Soho, rather than head for the Tottenham Court Road underground station.
He didn’t just have one drink.
He drank himself silly.
When the landlord said, “Right you, you’ve had enough — fuck off”, Edward made his way — staggering mostly — through the night air of Soho. It was then a young woman sidled up to him... flowing red hair, jeans, and faded fake leather jacket — which basically went with her t-shirt that stated: “Eat The Rich Not Animals”.
Whether it was really the case or not, she exuded “wild and free,” which appealed to him a bit more than was appropriate. He wanted to seize her right then and there, take her to a back alley, and ravish her.
Breaking the spell, she said, “I bet you work in the City, don’t you? It’s you bankers that are bleeding the world dry.”
Rather than feel irked, he felt even more lust for her. But he knew that even if he even tried to kiss her, she’d likely punch him in the face and then where it hurts for good measure. And that might not be ideal given that he and his wife hadn’t yet conceived their first child. He most definitely didn’t want to upend his life plan.
He began to sober up.
He was about to say something like, “Well you scroungers on benefits should be grateful to us bankers as its down to our careful management of the economy that you lot can life the life of Riley.”
But he thought better of it.
Instead he said, “I don’t know what else to do. I’m stuck. It’s like my life is mapped out.”
The girl didn’t look impressed.
“Just leave. Give it all up. It’s easier than you think.”
She saw a momentary look of fear in his eyes.
Then Edward said, “I’d like to but I can’t. I have the mortgage to pay and besides my wife and I are thinking of having children.”
The girl smiled, then pulled him to her and kissed him passionately on the lips (he was quite handsome, albeit dull).
At that moment it felt like the whole cosmos was buzzing inside him.
The girl pulled him tightly to her, no doubt well aware of his engorged manhood pressing against her upper-thigh.
As to Edward, he felt truly alive, ravenous for the delights of the flesh and the sheer wild abandon — whether in a back alley or in the luxurious bedroom of a five star hotel... at that point he wouldn’t have cared which.
But then the girl pulled away.
Taking his hand, she said, “Come with me, give it all up. We live in a squat. No rent to pay. Let go. Just do it. Follow your wild heart and instincts. Live life.”
It was like she was a siren sent out to lure him in the urban sea of the Metropolis.
Right then and there he was overwhelmed by fear.
Profound fear.
The girl raised her eyebrow.
“It doesn’t come free you know — like a knee-trembler in an alley, no questions asked, and just guilt going home to your wife. That’s too easy. You have to pay the price. And it’s a bigger price tag than a luxury yacht. It’s the price of letting go. Following your heart’s desire. There’s no certainty. No guarantees. Nothing set in stone. You just let go.”
“I want to, but I just can’t,” Edward stuttered.
With that he backed away, saying, “I’m sorry...”
He then walked off into the night to catch the tube.
That one moment in time had flashed back to Edward. When was it? Fifteen years ago? He thought so.
Now he realised, all those years later, he was at the same point again.
He had to find a way to let go — to embrace the moment and act... otherwise he’d be standing at the cobblestones of regret, bitterly reprimanding himself for not stepping out when chances to do so were handed to him on a plate.
What would you do?
Think on that, dear reader, for it is perhaps the most important thing you could ever contemplate.
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