The most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, and gave to it neither power nor time.
Mary Oliver identifies a particular species of regret—not the dramatic failures, but the atrophied gifts. Notice she doesn't say "those who tried and failed," but those who *felt* the call and ignored it; the regret compounds because the person knew, all along, what they were meant to do. A corporate accountant who sketches at midnight, telling himself he'll paint "someday," accumulates this specific ache differently than someone who never wanted to create in the first place. What makes this observation sting is that Oliver suggests the tragedy isn't circumstance but acquiescence—the person didn't lack time so much as they lacked the willingness to treat their creative work as non-negotiable, the way they treat paying bills.
“When you arise in the morning, think of what a precious privilege it is to be alive — to breathe, to...”
Marcus Aurelius“Drive your business. Let not your business drive you.”
Benjamin Franklin“Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity.”
Seneca“An investment in knowledge pays the best interest.”
Benjamin Franklin