I have pondered this, on and off, for a long time. If I miraculously could go back in time, start over, but know what I know now, would it be so different? Of course, such speculation is a moot point, for I doubt that there is much chance of my having that opportunity. But, the main question is, “How much difference to my life would knowing more make, versus how dominant would my innate nature be? Which would hold sway?”
If I sequestered myself from the intruding world, thought long and hard, and wrote a series of letters to myself at various early ages, letters containing every scrap of learned wisdom from my years of experience, would that information prompt me to make significantly different decisions and choices in my childhood? Would I more fully comprehend much earlier how challenging the real word is and how well one must be prepared to live successfully in it?
Would I have chosen a totally different course for my life, picked early-on a future profession, studied much harder? Would I have realized how essential it is to master good people-skills so that I could understand and relate better to my family, my friends, school-mates, teachers, and my work-colleagues?
In addition, would I have realized that childhood is a brief period when one truly can be a child, to play, to have fun? It seems in retrospect that I was expected to be the “young gentleman,” to behave, not to explore or experiment too much. I sometimes feel, as apparently a few friends of mine feel, that somehow I missed that period of being a child.
Then, there is my own nature. How much of that was in-born, and how much of that was learned from early childhood? I seem to have been hesitant, lacking spontaneity. I was not blindly self-confident, a risk-taker. I was more of the observer than the doer. I thought extensively about what I observed, wondering, reconsidering.
I was a bit of a dreamer, too. I think part of that came from my sense of incompleteness with my family. I began to dream of being someone else, being somewhere else, being part of a truly supportive and loving family. Despite my having had many varied and pleasant opportunities not always available to others, they were of relatively lesser importance. I do not recall ever having had truly practical guidance or advice from anyone, not from my parents, not from teachers or school counselors, not from caring mentors during my adult life. Many highly successful people have stated that an essential contributing factor in their success was having had a mentor who could help teach them and show the way to success. I never had that.
For some time now, I have sensed that what was lacking in my life has weighed heavily upon me. It has been like heavy baggage, dragged throughout my life and misdirecting my energies away from pursuing practical goals that could have enhanced my life.
Perhaps, in theory, if I could provide informative letters to myself that I could read at various points in my early life, I could, in a sense, be my own mentor. Maybe that would make a worthwhile difference in my life. On the other hand, would my dreamy, artistic nature and my natural aversion to taking risks have negated much of that advantage? It is an interesting question but not worth devoting much time to. My formative years were a very long time ago.
© 1 October 2013
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