Would You Make the Same Choices Over Again? Looking Back at My Own Real-Life Missed Connections (Exclusive)

“In retrospect, I was always in a hurry to get to the next thing,” writes ‘Missed Connections’ author Aimee K. Runyan. “Too much so, perhaps.”

As I settle into middle age, one of the symptoms I’ve noticed — right along with the fine lines around my eyes and insomnia — is a serious case of the “what ifs?” It feels like I’ve reached the point in my life where I’ve made most of the pivotal decisions I’ll ever make to set my life on its course, and now my fate is to watch all of them play out in real time. I’ve long since picked my college, my major, my career path, my spouse, had kids… and now it’s all a matter of living with those decisions or dealing with a lot of fallout if I change course in any one of those areas, which indeed I have done. Career change, divorce and remarriage, going back to school later in life are all possible. But they’re painful. It naturally follows that one wonders how life might have gone if one made different choices earlier on.

For me, the decision to head off to grad school in Indiana after a year as an English language assistant in Bayeux, France seemed obvious. The assistantship itself was a prestigious appointment through the Fulbright Program where I was integrated as a sort of junior teacher who led classes in English conversation and American culture. Participants had the option of applying to stay on for a second year, and switching to a new location in France or its overseas territories. It was the perfect “gap year” to immerse myself in French after finishing my BA, but I’d always envisioned it as being just that — one year. So rather than accepting a second year in the post — this time in the Caribbean on the island of Martinique rather than rainy Normandy — is one I’ve questioned. A lot. At the time it seemed like a no-brainer. I had a free ride to (arguably) the best French program in the U.S., and it was a step forward on the path to becoming a French professor, while the English language assistantship felt like hitting the snooze button on the alarm clock of life. 

But why not go to the Caribbean? Why was I in such a rush?

One’s early twenties are made for opportunities like those. Living in sunny paradise, teaching less than 20 hours a week, being paid what might be considered a living wage, but only if your standards are low enough. I’d graduated college in three years rather than four, and in retrospect, I was always in a hurry to get to the next thing. Too much so, perhaps. If I’d taken the post in Martinique, I could have continued working on the novel I started in France (the one I’ve never finished and probably never will) and maybe bypassed the full-time teaching era of my career altogether.

I taught French, English and Public Speaking at the high school level for more than a decade, and enjoyed it immensely, but it was never my calling. The plan had always been to teach at the university level, but I learned that tenure-track jobs in that field are tragically hard to come by. But maybe if I’d taken another year and improved my French and learned more about the Francophone world outside of France, I’d have been a stronger candidate when I reapplied to grad school and gone to my other top choice school instead and had better prospects on the job market. 

If I’d taken the leap of faith and gone to Martinique chances are, for better or worse, I wouldn’t have met my first husband. I could have averted a lot of heartache and a messy divorce, after all. In the most painful moments, I’d have given anything to spare myself that anguish. Him too, when I’m feeling generous. If I’d gone to Martinique, I might have ultimately realized my dreams sooner. Or maybe I’d have had a grand time for a year on the island and gone back to something very much like the life I ended up leading, just a year older and a little wiser. 

That doesn’t sound all that awful, does it?

But, just maybe, life shoved me down the path I needed to wander. If I’d met my now-husband, the dashing professor, at the age of 21 rather than 40, our 4.5-year age gap might have seemed larger than it does now. He had a lot more of his life plan figured out than I did, which only makes sense. I might have been too unsettled in my life to be a good partner to him at that point. There are so many scenarios where he and I might not have worked out when we were young. We met in our forties, both well-established in our careers and with a lot of great life experiences in those 20-odd years between grad school and when we actually met six years ago that turned us into the people who are so happily building a life together now. 

And, of course, there are my two wonderful kids. If I’d taken a different course in life, they wouldn’t be here. It’s crazy to think that, even without a cosmic do-over, any small change in my daily routine 16 years ago would mean that my kids would have been different people. It wouldn’t have taken something as life-changing as the decision to take a second year abroad. They are brilliant, funny, kind humans who make my life, and the world, a better place to be, and surprisingly charming for being teenagers. 

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But if I were forced to change something, it wouldn’t be a specific moment. I’d want the chance to relive my twenties with the confidence and self-awareness I’ve acquired in my forties. I would love the chance to ask for the things I wanted without fear of rejection. I’d love the chance to walk my path over again without caring so much about the opinions of others. What other people think of me, after all, is none of my business. To have the chance to relive that era of my life with the knowledge that I am capable of far more than I believed possible. 

But I can’t. 

The best I can do is raise my kids to know that self-doubt is a huge waste of energy and to move through life with the knowledge that rejection is rarely fatal and that neither failure nor success are permanent conditions. And they will have regrets of their own. The chances not taken, the paths not explored. Like most parents, I just hope their regrets are few and their choices plentiful. 

So no, if given the chance, I probably wouldn’t spend that year in Martinique, as tempting as it might seem. That doesn’t mean I don’t feel a pang for the kids I won’t have with my now-husband. That doesn’t mean I don’t look back on my life and wish I’d done some things differently. But there is solace in knowing it has all turned out pretty darn well.

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Missed Connections by Aimee K. Runyan is available now, wherever books are sold.

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