The Unfair Trial of Yesterday

/rɪˈɡret/ | noun

Dictionary definition: A feeling of sadness, disappointment, or remorse about something that happened, particularly a decision made, an opportunity missed, or an action one wishes had been different.

AJ’s interpretation: The rather unfair habit of putting our younger selves on trial using evidence that only became available years later.

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The Courtroom of Yesterday

An Original Free Verse Poem by AJ Gabriel

Last night,
I put my younger self on trial.

The courtroom was familiar,
assembled from old photographs,
unfinished conversations,
and memories I had examined
far too many times.

I appointed myself the judge,
the prosecutor,
and, rather conveniently,
the only reliable witness.

The accused was twenty-something,
impatient with uncertainty,
confident about certain things,
and wonderfully ignorant
of everything that would follow.

I presented the evidence.

A conversation
that should have lasted longer.

An opportunity declined
because the timing seemed wrong.

A friendship neglected
under the assumption
that there would always be
another afternoon.

A decision made
with more enthusiasm
than information.

The prosecution was impressive.

I had spent years
perfecting my arguments,
reconstructing conversations,
inventing better responses,
and calculating the lives
I might have lived
had I chosen differently.

Exhibit A:
The words I never said.

Exhibit B:
The chances I didn’t take.

Exhibit C:
A collection of imaginary futures
in which every alternative decision
turned out remarkably well.

I was particularly fond
of Exhibit C.

In those other lives,
I never misunderstood anyone,
missed an opportunity,
or discovered too late
that I had been mistaken.

Every road led somewhere beautiful.
Every conversation ended kindly.
Every decision
was accompanied
by a convenient explanation
of its consequences.

Reality, unfortunately,
had never been so generous.

Then my younger self
requested permission to speak.

She stood before me
without the experience
I had gathered since,
without the answers
I now considered obvious,
and without the slightest idea
that one day
I would question her so thoroughly.

She asked me
a rather inconvenient question.

“Did you know then
what you know now?”

I objected.

The question was irrelevant,
I insisted.

But the courtroom fell silent.

Because the truth was
I had mistaken hindsight
for wisdom.

I had demanded foresight
from someone
who was simply trying
to make a decision
with what she knew.

Of course,
she had made mistakes.

Some careless.
Some avoidable.
Some requiring apologies
that should have been offered sooner.

Not every choice
could be excused
by youth or uncertainty.

But neither could every outcome
be placed entirely
upon her shoulders.

There were circumstances
she could not control,
people whose intentions
she could not predict,
and consequences
that only became visible
after the decision was made.

I looked again
at my carefully arranged evidence.

The imaginary futures
began losing their credibility.

Perhaps that road
would have led somewhere better.

Perhaps it wouldn’t.

Perhaps the friendship
would have survived
another conversation.

Perhaps we would have grown apart
regardless.

The truth was uncomfortable.

I would never know.

And I had spent years
arguing with possibilities
that could neither defend themselves
nor be proven.

So I closed the case.

Not because every decision
had been right.

Not because the consequences
no longer mattered.

But because I had finally understood
that a lesson
was not the same thing
as a life sentence.

This morning,
I found another decision
waiting to be made.

No guarantees.
No preview of the ending.
Not even a helpful footnote.

Only the facts available,
the values I hoped to honour,
and the imperfect judgement
of the person I am today.

I considered my options.

Then I chose.

Somewhere in the future,
another version of me
may disagree.

I hope
she will at least
hear my side of the story.

— AJ Gabriel

The Dictionary of Human Feelings | Entry 007

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A Note From AJ

I sometimes wonder how many hours people spend mentally revisiting decisions that can no longer be changed. We replay conversations, reconsider opportunities, and imagine how differently things might have unfolded if we’d said something else, stayed a little longer, or chosen another direction. The peculiar thing is that our imaginary alternatives often turn out suspiciously well. Apparently, in the lives we didn’t live, we’re considerably better at making decisions.

I’ve certainly questioned some of my own choices. There were occasions when I could have been more patient, more observant, or more willing to speak up. There were also times when I made what seemed like a sensible decision, only to discover later that it wasn’t the best one. Looking back, the answer appears obvious. But that’s the advantage of standing at the end of a story and pretending we could have predicted every chapter.

What makes regret complicated is that it isn’t always unreasonable. Sometimes we’ve genuinely made mistakes, treated people unfairly, or allowed opportunities to pass because of fear or poor judgement. Those experiences deserve reflection, accountability, and, when appropriate, an apology. I don’t believe every regrettable decision should be dismissed with the reassuring claim that everything happens for a reason. Sometimes things happen because we made an unfortunate choice, and recognising that is part of learning.

But I also think we can become unnecessarily harsh towards our younger selves. We judge decisions made years ago using knowledge, maturity, and experience we acquired only afterwards. We forget the circumstances, the information available at the time, and the person we were when those choices presented themselves.

I’ve learned that regret is useful when it teaches me how to choose differently, but less so when it becomes a permanent argument with a past I cannot change.

There’s a difference between accepting responsibility and repeatedly punishing ourselves for the same mistake. The former can improve our judgement. The latter can keep us so occupied with yesterday that we overlook the decisions waiting for us today.

And perhaps that’s the amusing part of being human. We spend years wishing we’d known better, only to discover that our present selves are still making decisions with incomplete information. Somewhere in the future, we’ll probably be questioning those choices too.

I can only hope my future self has developed a little more patience with me.

After all, I’m doing the best I can with the information currently available. If the universe would like to provide a detailed instruction manual, preferably with an index and a troubleshooting section, I would be delighted to read it.

AJ Gabriel
Case closed, lessons retained.