Fall in Love with the Thing I Most Wish Didn’t Happen

A Contemplation on Surrender & Regret

The other night, I was winding down, letting my thoughts fade, scrolling through YouTube shorts—when I landed on a clip of Stephen Colbert.

He wasn’t telling jokes this time. He was speaking slowly, honestly, from the quiet place behind the performance. He was talking about grief, about loss, about the parts of life that bring us to our knees. And then he said something that stopped me cold:

“Fall in love with the thing I most wish didn’t happen.”

I paused the video. Replayed it. I let it percolate in my heart.

Something about that phrase—those exact words—opened a door I didn’t know how to unlock. I’ve thought often about the hard things that happened to me—those seemingly unfair moments and slow heartbreaks that shaped my life. But in that moment, what surfaced just as strongly were the things I had done to others.

The choices I made. The words I spoke. The ways I unknowingly—or unskillfully—caused pain.

And the ache of the invitation: Can I fall in love with that too?

Not to excuse it. Not to forget it. But to finally stop running from it—and start letting it transform me.

To “fall in love with what I most wish didn’t happen” isn’t denying my pain or avoiding accountability. It’s a surrender to a deeper truth. To be truly alive is to feel it all and accept it all as part of who I have become today.

Whether it’s something done to me—or something I regret doing to someone else—there has been a part of me that stayed frozen in resistance. I replay it. Rewrite it. Try to fix it in my mind. But my past remains unchanged. What can change is my relationship to it.

What I realize is... to fall in love in this context says:

I see you, wound.

I see you, regret.

You are part of me.

And I am learning to carry you with grace.

There’s no bypass here. This is hard, deep work.

But strangely, beautifully, my most painful chapters—whether they are the ones where I was harmed or the ones where I harmed—can become deeper openings. They can restructure me, humble me, make me whole.

I believe that when regret becomes my teacher instead of my prison, I can grow in ways I never thought possible.  In that honest reckoning, I can offer myself and the world something even more authentic.

Let’s face it, we all have something we wish we could undo. But perhaps the deeper question is:

Can I live in such a way that nothing is wasted—not even my deepest pain?

Phew. This is my soul’s work.

To fall in love with the thing I most wish didn’t happen is not a betrayal of my pain—or of anyone else’s. It’s a commitment to growth- to truth- and to becoming someone who can hold all of life wholeheartedly.

Because healing isn’t about erasing the past. It’s about fully digesting it until it becomes wisdom.

With love,

Sarita

XXOO

Join me in self-inquiry:

These questions are for brave hearts. Be gentle as you reflect:

1. What do I most wish hadn’t happened in my life—whether done to me or done by me?

2. Is there something I’ve been carrying as regret or shame? What would it feel like to release the punishment, but keep the lesson?

3. How have these moments shaped me—not in theory, but in who I’ve become?

4. Can I sit beside the version of myself who made that mistake… and offer them compassion instead of condemnation?

5. What would it mean to love even this—to integrate it as a valid and honest part of me?

6. Who have I become because I’ve walked through this fire? What qualities now live in me because of it?