I Regret Nothing Part 22

"Now, what are you having done today? You're down here for some reason, but I forget what," Stacey says.

"My first laser tattoo removal session! I thought that getting rid of this thing"-I point at the letters on my ankle-"would be a great way to finish up my year of eliminating regrets. Because you know who doesn't have tattoos? Every middle-aged person in the entire town of Lake Forest."

"Won't that be ridiculously expensive?" Tracey asks.

"Yes, if I went to a plastic surgeon. But I found a place called Vamoose, which is catty-corner from where I lived in Bucktown and only costs seventy-nine bucks per session! They can't say how many sessions I'll need until after we begin, but at the most, I'm looking at three to five times, which is a ma.s.sive savings."

"Then that's at least three to five more guaranteed lunches here at Lula!" Stacey cheers.

Even though we four haven't gotten together for a meal in months, it's as though we were all here yesterday.

(Sidebar: We're the only non-hipster, non-fixie-riding, non-ironic-facial-haired patrons in the joint, as Stacey's neighborhood has basically morphed into Williamsburg, The Sequel. But we were here first and since Stacey finally convinced her old landlord to sell her the place she rented for the last twenty years-never doubt her ability to hold out for what she wants-I guarantee we'll be here long after they run off to the suburbs, having discovered the joys of free parking and riding lawn mowers.) I want to say that lunch ends on a high note, but it doesn't. Right before Gina has to leave for an afternoon meeting, she receives a call that her friend's husband died from a cardiac event. He was forty-six years old.

Forty-six.

My age.

I'd actually met the man at a party back in the spring. He left an impression on me because he had such a beautiful wife and they seemed so happy together.

I hate that everything can be taken away in an instant.

I'm quietly reflective as I drive from the restaurant to my old neighborhood. Between the news of this good man's pa.s.sing and wandering my old stomping grounds, I feel out of sorts, like everything's suddenly askew.

I mean, just look at Damen Avenue in Bucktown. What was once the bastion of coolness at the turn of the twenty-first century, with record shops and dive bars everywhere, has morphed into the Mall of America. We used to live around the corner from a guy who had a pet pig named Bacon. And this wasn't a pot-bellied pig; he was the real full-sized deal. Now there's nothing but Bugaboo strollers and black Labs. For crying out loud, there's a Marc Jacobs here now and the only free-range pork to be found is in the carnitas bowl at Chipotle.

While looking for a place to park by the tattoo shop, I pa.s.s my old building, which looks exactly the same as I left it twelve years ago. Except when I walked out those doors at that time, Fletch and I were newly married, unemployed, and terrified. We were desperately trying to figure out what we were going to do to survive. And suddenly, we weren't solely responsible for ourselves-we had a couple of little dogs, too. How were we going to feed Maisy and Loki when we weren't even sure how we'd take care of ourselves?

At that low point in my life, I never imagined I'd be surrounded by an incredible support network of friends who'd fulfill the roles of family in my life. I hadn't a clue as to how pet owners.h.i.+p would impact my every decision, starting with trying to become a writer so I could stay home with Maisy. I couldn't have guessed the kind of life Fletch and I would build for ourselves, and how we'd continue to grow together instead of falling apart in times of crisis.

Honestly, I'm glad I can't go back in time and tell myself it will all be okay, because I've needed to experience every high and low from the past decade to be not only where I am, but who I am, today.

Despite having had an anonymous Greek chorus in my ear for the past few years, telling me that I'm doing it all wrong, I realize I can't change anyone's perceptions and trying to do so would be fruitless.

All I can do is to find peace within myself and the surest path is to continue to eliminate that which I regret.

Each accomplishment on my bucket list has been inordinately satisfactory, from the simple pleasure of finding a new backbeat when I drive with the top down, to connecting with the culture that's influenced me in so many ways. Even though I haven't yet gotten around to taking a self-defense cla.s.s, that's still on my list and it's something I look forward to doing. Now, my world seems so much larger than it did a year ago. I've always feared growing older because I thought I'd run out of interests, but what this project has taught me is that I've barely scratched the surface of what I could try next. I can't possibly stagnate when everything feels brand-new and there's so much more to explore, especially with Fletcher beside me.

Plus, I have a new hobby that not only fulfills me, but also helps me cover unexpected expenses like buying Prozac for my weird little dog. (Yes, I do wonder exactly how funny the Italians would find the notion of dog therapists.) Discovering I have other marketable skills makes me less anxious for the future. So much regret is mitigated when there's an actionable plan in place. Couple this discovery with the realization that my things shouldn't own me and that life's meant to be lived, not displayed on Pinterest, and my sense is I've finally achieved something close to balance.

I feel excellent about actually having done more for others this year, rather than just posting status updates about how one could theoretically pursue service. And I'll definitely not regret taking a giant leap away from social media. I figure I was part of the first wave toward social networking, and I'm just as glad to be among the first to walk away.

Most of all, I'm so happy to have finally cracked my own code in terms of my health. I finally understand what drives me and I have a better grasp on how not to derail myself. I don't expect perfection; ergo, I won't be disappointed when I don't attain it. I've learned the importance of cutting myself a break, which is the most expedient path to a life lived without qualms, misgivings, and sorrow.

So I open the door to Vamoose, ready to begin to remove the tangible proof of so many poor choices and bad decisions.

Because regretting nothing is the new black.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

What's the opposite of regret? Welcome? Applaud? Because the following people are and have been instrumental in helping me mitigate my regrets, I both applaud and welcome you. (I know the welcome sounds weird-just go with it.) For Tracy Bernstein, thank you for knowing what I mean even when I'm not even sure what I mean. I promise at some point I will learn the difference between "each other" and "one another" and also where to place the word "only" in a sentence. You are a saint and a scholar. For reals.

For Kara Welsh, thanks for taking a chance on a bitter ex sorority girl all those years ago. Hope I've done you proud. And many thanks to Claire Zion, as well. You're my guiding lights.

Craig Burke, you're the best, even though we're about to be locked in an arms race over who can buy our dogs more costumes/sweaters. Jessica Butler, I'm your trial by fire, and you never cease to amaze with your firefighting prowess. There are many big things ahead, and I'm so excited for you!

For Sales, Marketing, Art, Audio, Speakers' Bureau, Production, and Contracting/Royalties-thanks for all you do. You are my village. (As in it takes a-get it?) And for Copyediting, I will always write out times, dollar amounts, and decades going forward. Swearsies. I make no promises on understanding the differences between further and farther, though-that s.h.i.+t is tricky.

For Scott Miller (and all the drummers from Spinal Tap), none of this happens without you. You go to eleven.

I don't know where I'd be without authors like Stacey Ballis, Karyn Bosnak, Quinn c.u.mmings, Laurie Notaro, Sarah Pekkanen, Amy Hatvany, Beth Harbison, Emily Giffin, Jolene Siana, Jenny Mollen, Liz Fenton, Lisa Steinke, Jennifer Coburn, Jennifer Weiner, and Allie Larkin having my back. It's not trite to say "so blessed" when you really mean it. Really, for all the brilliant writers out there who inspire me to try harder, thank you. (And Amy Bromberg, we love you for being our biggest cheerleader!) An extra-special thanks goes to Laurie Dolan, my rock, my sounding board, and my bestest Starbucks buddy. Life is better for knowing you, which means I will be relentless until you finish your own ma.n.u.script.

For Lisa Lampanelli and Luke McCollum, my spirit animals-I'll never miss another Annual b.i.t.c.hes at the Beach again. But at least we had Pageant!

For my girls Tracey and Gina, my family by choice-every day is Thanksgiving with you. For Joanna, Julia, Allison, and Alex-I swear on all that is porcine, we will have our sweet, sweet revenge. Count on it. (Remember, being bitter is what got me here in the first place.) Rachel and Trenna-thanks for Savannah, even if you all didn't make it there. (Still looking at you, United.) For Kathleen, Chris, and Finn, my fairy G.o.dson-you are tangible proof that faith plus patience equals dreams coming true.

For my boys Benjamin, Jon, and Jonathan-luff you! Never change.

For Kristin and Cecilia at Re-Invent-you give me hope for the next generation.

For everyone who should be thanked here but I've missed-I really need to start taking better notes. (Am old and I forget things now. My apologies.) For Fletch, the only person I'd ever choose to sit next to for ten hours in Coach. Here's to twenty years and counting! I won't get squishy because you don't actually read my books (he says he doesn't have to because he lives them). Instead, I'll say this-sorry I'm not sorry about the three-wheeled bike. Thank you for being the best sport. And for the beasts-although I regret what you do to my floors every day, you're worth it. (But if you could stop peeing on the drapes in my office, I'd appreciate it.) Finally, for the readers, the libraries, and the booksellers, thank you for always and forever.

Other t.i.tles by.

New York Times Bestselling Author.

JEN LANCASTER.

Bitter Is the New Black.

Bright Lights, Big a.s.s.

Such a Pretty Fat.

Pretty in Plaid.

My Fair Lazy.

If You Were Here.

Jeneration X.

Here I Go Again.

The Tao of Martha.

Twisted Sisters.