The song “My Way,” written by Paul Anka and made famous by Frank Sinatra, is generally interpreted as a ballad of undaunted autonomy. Attend almost any wedding reception in the Northeast United States, and guests will come together to sing this popular standard, which oftentimes implies the celebration coming to an end. The off-key chorus of family and friends is beautiful all the same because it fills the space with emotion and shared joy. For me, the song chronicles the protagonist living a life with intention and agency while also contemplating the costs that accompany this freedom of choice. The most meaningful and central theme of the song, I believe, is captured in the first two lines of the second stanza:
Regrets, I’ve had a few
But then again, too few to mention
I did what I had to do
And saw it through without exemption
I planned each charted course
Each careful step along the byway
And more, much more than this
I did it my way
There is an admission of regret, certainly, but the sorrow the singer feels is insignificant because these regrets are framed in a broader context of choices made, suggesting that the pain endured from the blunders and errors of choice is preferable to the torment that emerges from inaction or living disingenuously. Mistakes are unavoidable, but when they result from choices made on one’s own terms, the regrets that may be felt become life’s footnotes rather than bold captions.
When we consider this idea of regret and a life lived with authenticity, how does this translate to our career choices? More specifically, for the court manager, how can one go about the day-to-day administration of the court so that they can look back with pride, even if everything did not work out as intended or have ideal results? How can one’s path be aligned so that the regrets are, as Anka writes, “too few to mention”?
***
Toni and I were finishing up lunch at Pearl of the East, one of our favorite Chinese restaurants in the city. Like so many other neighborhoods, Chinatown had seen its share of residents and businesses displaced. Toni always liked to do her part to support local eateries, so she made a point of frequenting the establishments that had survived (for the time being) the takeover. She was reviewing the bill while my senses became captivated by the place: waves of blue-orange flames licking the woks that line cooks rocked back and forth; ladles being tapped on pans as orders from the wooden counter are shouted in a pacey Cantonese tongue; the rising steam from the open kitchen thickens the air with the pungent scent of ginger, soy sauce, toasted sesame, and chilies. There is a mesmerizing energy that emanates from this shoebox of a space. Eating here is, in fact, a visceral experience — one that I would miss if it ever closed its doors. “Not too bad for an afternoon meal,” Toni concluded as she totaled the bill and signed her name to the merchant’s copy.
“You can’t go wrong with the chicken and mushroom clay pot,” I replied.
“I forgot to ask if it disappointed.”
“Never does, Toni. Thanks again for picking up the tab. One of these days, you’re going to need to let me pay.”
“Not as long as I’m older than you. And it’s my pleasure. It’s always good to see you, so it’s worth bribing you to take the ride in with me to enjoy what’s left of Chinatown,” she stated.
“I always get more out of our talks, so you never have to induce me with food or beverage. Of course, I’m happy to be your sidekick for these taste explorations,” I joked.
“Yes — I’ve trained you well.”
The waiter returned with two small bowls of mango pudding and a full kettle of Bolay tea. “These are on the house, madam,” he stated as he retrieved the check holder.
“That’s unnecessary, but thank you.”
“It pays to be you, Toni.”
“It always pays to be yourself,” she replied.
“Especially if that person being herself is you.”
“This can go on for the rest of the afternoon. Here — don’t forget your fortune. It pairs well with the mango,” she stated, sliding the cookie over to me while she poured us a gratis cup of the earthy blend.
I recited the vague prophecy on the small piece of paper: “‘What you regret today can guide you tomorrow — if you let it.’”
“Oh — I like that!” she exclaimed.
“This reminds me a bit of what I did the other night when I was looking over my school yearbook.”
“What were you doing?” she asked, cradling the teacup to take a sip.
“I wanted to be sure that I could match names and faces at the reunion this weekend, so I was looking at the portrait photos and got drawn into reading all the messages my classmates wrote to me a quarter of a century ago. One of my classmates wrote: ‘If you ever need anything, call me, and he included his number.’”
“So, you called the number?” she asked.
“No. It got me thinking, so I called my old landline — (201) 555-0721.”
“Why did you do that? And did anyone pick up?” she chuckled.
“I was curious if it belonged to anyone. But part of me was fantasizing that the younger version of myself would answer. Instead, I got the automated message that the number was no longer in service.”
“I’ve done that too.”
“Called an old phone number?”
“No, not literally. I’ve thought about what I would tell the twenty-two-year-old me if I had an hour to chat and share a kettle of tea with her.”
“So, what did you come up with?” I asked.
“Not much. But that’s because I realized I would let her do most of the talking, because the boundless possibility in the eyes of that young, courageous woman would reinvigorate me. It would be a joy to watch. William Empson knew it when he said, ‘There is more in the child than any man is able to keep.’” She paused, contemplating these words and reaffirmed them, “Yes — that would be more than enough for me.”
“You wouldn’t want to warn or direct her in some way about the future? Or perhaps talk with her about some of the missteps you made or things you would have done differently?”
“Like what?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. I don’t know of any major issue you’ve shared that you regret having done.”
“If I were forced to think about them, I imagine that there are plenty of minor things and even some weighty ones mixed in. But there’s nothing so critical that if there were a way for me to take Dr. Brown’s DeLorean back to 1960, I would want to change that woman’s path.”
“Even the things that would inevitably come to hurt you?” I asked.
“Yes — even the misfortunes. To live is to endure some degree of pain. You should not wish for a pain-free existence; instead, you should desire and seek the strength and guidance to work through the challenges. And that includes the mistakes that you will make along the way.”
“And a sense of humor,” I added.
“Yes — the ability to have perspective and laugh at yourself is also very important. To live perfectly imperfect is what I would say.”
“So, you’re happy even in the bad choices that you made, that you wouldn’t want to change anything?”
“‘Happy’ is the wrong word. I would say I’m content with the decisions — good and not-so-good — because each choice brought me to the place and time where I find myself today. Change any one of those decisions, and it’s a different ending. Those actions made me the woman I am today, and I’m okay with that.”
“But for some of those mistakes, we may not have met,” I concluded.
“True. But you don’t know the benefit of an error at the time it’s made. You only realize it in retrospect, when you’re able to step back far enough to see the entire canvas and take it all in. In the present tense, you’ve got your nose pressed up against the painting, and all you see is a blob of red.”
“You can’t see how this color enriches or fits into the rest of the picture,” I stated.
“Exactly. Why would I want to change any of that? Tell her things so that the color can be swapped out for a purple or pink?”
“That would change the composition of life’s mural,” I concluded.
“Yes — and I’m happy with the mural and content with the smudges and patches that at first did not appear to belong. The lesson is that you should not spend an inordinate amount of time trying to calculate the future costs of current decisions. By the same token, you ought not lament the past for decisions that were your own making. Life has taught me that we generally regret those things that were never done and those things that were done for the wrong reasons. Those other choices — the genuine ones — you can live with even if they turned out to be mistakes.”
***
To follow Toni’s counsel is to have no wonder over what may have been. There are simply the choices one makes (based on personal reasoning) and the experiences that come to pass from those decision points. Regret is not ignored; instead, it is integrated into the larger narrative of a career and a life, however slowly and imperceptibly it develops. Knowing this, it is soon easy to recognize that authentically pursuing success, even if one falls short of the goals that were set, is preferable to the bitterness and judgement that befall an “imaginary” life. Individuals create themselves through their choices, and to the extent there is some regret in these actions, the disappointments are manageable in the long term. There is certainly an appeal to the fantasy — having the best of intentions to do something and be someone without risking the vulnerability and judgement of failure. But without risk, nothing of material value can be accomplished. The individual is judged and will ultimately judge themselves based on what is done or, at the very least, what was attempted. It is as the philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre stated:
In life, man commits himself and draws his own portrait, outside of which there is nothing. No doubt this thought may seem harsh to someone who has not made a success of his life. But on the other hand, it helps people to understand that reality alone counts, and that dreams, expectations and hopes only serve to define a man as a broken dream, aborted hopes, and futile expectations.
Toni’s perspective and straightforward approach enable each of us to live our own way so that we can lead a life that concludes with a level of composure and clarity. This outlook strikes a balance between being reflective and forward-thinking, bringing peace of mind with any decision and mistake that was made because it was theirs to make. Hope springs from this freedom of choice and beckons one to act. When decisions are aligned with our heart and values, then I imagine, as Toni suggests, that when “the end is near” and we “face the final curtain,” we will take more pride in the person we have grown to become than regret the person we could have been. Living and working in accordance with this mindset, one is indifferent to the possibility of ever connecting with one’s younger self because there would be nothing worth mentioning to share. True contentment is ultimately found when there is no desire to call the number of the person you once were.
And those are just some of my musings on management.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Giuseppe M. Fazari has been musing about management concepts and practices throughout his career as an administrator, consultant, and academic. Contact him at fazarigm@icloud.com.
