I wish I had snuck out of the house more as a teenager.
Pretty sure Dad and Mom will not agree with this one, but it is one of my greatest regrets. I played by the rules, man, still do. Hubs teases me about it regularly. I get bent out of shape very quickly when others don’t follow the rules. Rules are there for a reason. If I don’t like ’em, I should get to where I can change ’em, and not waste time complaining.
Anyways, I wish I had broken some more. My teenage years consisted of a lot of memories of screwing up but not being solid on where, exactly, I’d gone wrong. I can only remember a few instances where I got reamed out for something and I was like, “this is totally legit, I’m very clear on why this is happening.” A lot of my troubled youth had more to do with a generally sour attitude than any blatant rule-breaking.
I wish I’d done a little bit more of that. I should have discovered jello shots earlier. I should know the subtle nuances of climbing out the back window. I be able to avoid the squeaky step with my eyes closed, in my sleep. By not sneaking out more I missed out on so many good stories.
Missing out on good stories is the greatest tragedy of all, isn’t it?