The Pharmacy(tm)

It has been a reflection of mine quite lately that for those with a true religion to speak of, their lives can be a little more comforting compared to mine. Over breakfast recently with my mother, she shared with me one possible regret of hers that if she had her whole life to do again she would change. I mentioned already that my mother once worked for the United Nations, and was assigned in Thailand as an expat officer. During her stint there she was given an offer to continue her social work for the U.N. but based in Vienna. This move would obviously entail uprooting our family–Thailand was still close enough to Manila, but Europe was a totally different matter altogether.

She thought long and hard about that offer, but ended up declining it, and cited her bottomline reason for doing so: family. Firstly, her parents. My mother was an only child herself, and her parents (my grandparents) lived with us in Manila–and at the time the job offer was made, both her parents were already pushing 80 years and although still ambulatory, were getting sick more often as is common with old age. Being assigned in Vienna, she could bring her children and her spouse, but there was no immediate accomodation for her parents. And being an only child, she feared being far from her parents at the twilight of their years.

As it turned out, my grandparents lived another 10 years after her decision to stay before they finally passed away.

Second, her children. Although we would have ended up being schooled in Vienna, work at the U.N. didn’t exactly form the definition of “free time with the kids”. We all knew that she would have a hectic schedule, which meant we would be growing up, albeit expat kids–but still mostly unsupervised. It was my own grandmother who cautioned my mother about the potential dangers of rearing unsupervised children in a very comfortable setting (read: spoiled).

Finally, her spouse. My own father was a lawyer and was working as a senior officer in Philippine Airlines at the time. His access to first class travel and my mother’s need to go around the world meant we would be jetsetters (and we were already having back-to-back trips to Thailand). However, this worked for a Manila-Bangkok arrangement, but not for Vienna. If we were going to Europe, my father would either have to remain in Manila, separated from us, or come along to Vienna, but as my mother’s dependent (there was little a Philippine lawyer can apply in a European setting). This last bit was the proverbial dealbreaker. My mother worried about the psychological trauma that would cause my dad–effectively reversing the gender roles–and that idea nailed the coffin shut.

Now, almost 20 years later, my mother said that she had no regrets about how things turned out nonetheless. We were all still able to school at the finest Philippine unversities, she was able to bury her parents gracefully, and she continues to have a loving relationship with my father.

I saw things a little differently. It was easy to fall in a smug acceptance of things, and chalk it up to fate (i.e. she was fated to decline that job offer, if only to see her family through), because she looked at it in 20/20 hindsight–and the worst kind of hindsight at that: that which only considers the possible negative effects that she had foregone by her decision. No mention is made about how our lives would have become better had she taken the offer.

It’s probably not an intentional slip on her part, as much as it was a psychologically comforting one. Having avoiding a loss feels so much better to entertain than the notion of having avoided an opportunity. But just thinking about it, it doesn’t make sense to imagine that the bad things were more likely to have happened compared to good things.

No regrets–is such a comfortable and convenient phrase, but it really means no thoughts. We’d rather not think about the better lives we could have lived–because to do so would have dramatic dissonance on our own self-esteem. Who wants to say that they’ve intentionally made their lives less attractive?

There’s also the “sunk cost” lingering there. For my mother, the job she gave up to rear her children was a cost–in both career, money, and self-esteem–that it made sense for her to think that she had given up that cost for something more valuable: better family life, good kids, happy husband, enriched parents. There’s also a little element of destiny involved–that which gives us almost certainty that we’re doing the right thing after all.

Which brings me back to my earlier comment: those with a real religion–whether it’s an actual organized religion, or a simple belief in fate and destiny–will find life more comfortable, simply because they are “meant” to do so. They won’t entertain how much better life could have been if things were any different. At the most mild cases (perhaps like say, my mother) it’s simply an emotional crutch to bridge the cost that she sacrificed, but at the most extreme cases this belief can breed deep complacency about things–being fatalistic and resigned to one’s existence.

My life is anything but fatalistic. I’ve had and continue to have my share of challenges, but I attribute my successes and failures solely to myself and my decisions. Although the world continues to evolve around me, I don’t blame fate or destiny for my problems insomuch as I blame my own efforts (or lack of). This can make life very cruel to people like me.

However it isn’t all one-sided. I also am saved from trying to ponder destiny, explaining God’s mysterious ways, or relying on fortunes and prophecies to guide me. But this is a pyrrhic benefit, until perhaps the final reward for my efforts, which I refuse to acknowledge openly lest I fall into a false sense of entitlement (ah but the temptation is strong).

Henry Drummond’s quote sums up my sentiments succinctly:

“Unless a man undertakes more than he possibly can do, he will never do all that he can.”

But not having a fate to blame but yourself does suck sometimes.