The Price Of Moving On

Remember this one, or even this one?

I wrote those entries four years ago1. Amazing how much they apply to the sit­u­a­tion I’m in now. Except this time, I’m stronger because I know that I sur­vived this once already. It’s sad that at the end, all my efforts turned into an attempt at mak­ing sure I would­n’t regret any­thing by giv­ing more of myself than I should have. Because when all that you’ve giv­en makes no dif­fer­ence, and you have noth­ing left, you know for sure that there’s noth­ing else you can do. You can always say that you took the chance, and it does­n’t mat­ter if you get hurt in the end, because often you can’t sep­a­rate the two.

That’s the price you pay to look back with­out any regrets. That’s the price of mov­ing on.

And I always pay it glad­ly.

  1. It’s quite a trip to see that I was mature or smart enough to fig­ure this out back then. []

4 comments

  1. makes sense. a per­son is finite. rela­tion­ship is nego­ti­a­tion. you put out what you can and anoth­er does too. some­times it flies. some­times it does­n’t at this time. rail or accept or re-bar­gain, no one has absolute con­trol over anoth­er or self or what will hap­pen. a some point it’s que sera. regrets just waste ener­gy. I find it hard to cap my regrets but it’s a mat­ter of habit as well I sup­pose.

    so far as your twit­ter, I write some­thing out until it is out of the way too.

    • How bor­ing would life be if we did have absolute con­trol over every­one and every­thing. Means it’s as impor­tant to learn to let go as it is to try our best.

  2. For some rea­son read­ing these 2 old blogs of yours keeps mak­ing me think of the last blog I wrote. I think they are dif­fer­ent sides of the same coin some­how.

    • I get that feel­ing too. Like we’re going through the same thing from dif­fer­ent per­spec­tives.

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