The older I get, the more I find regret to be a sucker’s game. I was the me then that I was, wishing the me then was the me now is just a waste of angst. Learn and move. Learn and move. No regret.
All sorts of stuff — e.g. gabby strangers approaching me unexpectedly when I’m in a low mental energy state. But when I observe the sensation of that nervousness, without rumination or feeding of the feeling, it fades rapidly. As Twain [allegedly, but possibly never] said, “I am an old man and have known a great many troubles, but most of them never happened.”
Sans fear of dying,
The angst of trying
Is felt and left
To float.
winter forest; the dead silence makes itself known as a vague feeling of untethered angst
Tiger Riding for Beginners 