Coulda-Woulda-Shoulda

     It's been said that it's futile to have regrets -- but we're human, so we have them anyway. The ones we feel most deeply, of course, are the "shoulda" ones, the ones whose circumstances afforded us the opportunity, but for one reason or other (usually laziness, cowardice, or procrastination) we simply didn't take advantage of them. So afterwards we say, "You know, I could have done it. And I would have done it, but was too lazy/afraid. Damn! I should have done it." Coulda-woulda-shoulda.

     Then there are the other regrets, the ones whose circumstances didn't afford us the opportunity; the hazy dreams, castles in the air, pies in the sky. They're the ones that, when spoken of later, are always preceded by the words "if only." "If only I had had the time and/or money, I woulda done it." Woulda if I coulda -- but I couldn', so I didn'.

     One of my most favorite poems, and a favorite of most poetry lovers, is T. S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." To me, it's one long coulda-woulda-shoulda. The sad thing about Prufrock, the narrator -- and he shares this with Newland Archer in Edith Wharton's The Age of Innocence -- is that he succumbs to his environment and circumstances, allows them to stifle whatever urge he has to lead a life contrary to what's expected of him. This is one of the greatest human tragedies, and both Eliot and Wharton convey this with a detachment that is nonetheless piercingly effective; in fact, it is this very detachment that makes their characters' stories so wrenching. Some people find Wharton cold and cynical, and perhaps she is -- I think that's exactly how she gets her point across so successfully.

     But I digress. Back to coulda-woulda-shoulda and woulda-if-I-coulda-but-I-couldn'-so-I-didn'. Try saying that three times real fast!

     I thought last night of my own regrets, both kinds. I have surprisingly few of the second kind, which tells me that, for the most part, I have been blessed with favorable circumstances.

My Coulda-Woulda-Shoulda Regrets

Not writing to Helene Hanff (one of my favorite writers) before she died
Not making copies of the poems I wrote as a child and adolescent (I put them all in one blank
book, then lost the book)
Not taking Latin class seriously in high school
Not working summers at another opera company
Not putting in sufficient practice time at the piano (as a soloist)
Not studying:
          Mozart's Concerto No. 9 in E-flat
          more Beethoven
          Schubert
          another Bach Partita (I only played the B-flat)

My Woulda-If-I-Coulda-but-I-Couldn'-So-I-Didn' Regrets

Not spending more time in Italy and England (lack of funds)
Never having done a production of:
          Suor Angelica
          Dialogues of the Carmelites
          I Capuleti e i Montecchi
          L'Italiana in Algeri
          Xerxes
          Alcina
          Medée (Charpentier)
          any opera by Gluck