What Regret Taught Me (So You Don’t Have to Learn the Hard Way)
I don’t regret much. Not because I’ve nailed it, but because every misstep handed me data. There are things I would never do again - but that information is why I’m stronger now, clearer now, less available to the wrong things now.
Coming out didn’t scare me half as much as staying small did. So, I ran toward everything - new city, new friends, new pace - until the noise drowned out who I was. Sydney rewarded that; it applauds the loudest version of you, and I learned the hard way that being busy isn’t the same as belonging. I was exhausted from performing acceptance I didn’t even feel. Every smile cost something.
When I finally stopped, the silence was awful - and then, eventually, healing. Depression doesn’t care about optics, or timing. I scaled back everything: nightlife, noise, numbing. I began trading late nights for early ones, chaos for consistency. Sobriety, work, movement - they became the spine of a steadier life.
The problem with “no regrets”
I don’t love the “no regrets” mantra. As Arthur C. Brooks argues, regret isn’t a flaw in the system - it’s the system learning. If you bury regret, you tend to repeat mistakes; if you reckon with it, you upgrade your choices. Julie Beck puts it even plainer: regret is the price of agency - of believing your actions matter. Without that sting, we’d never course correct.
What helped me:
Name the regret (kill the ghost), learn the lesson, then forgive myself and move on.
Stop treating past versions of me like enemies; treat them as prototypes.
Midlife isn’t a crisis; it’s a design brief
I’ve had every cliché crisis available: quarter-life reset, hard pivots, the quiet collapse that looks like “busy.” Turning 40 scared me - still does some days - but I’ve never been easier to be than I am now. That’s partly because I stopped optimising for “more” and started subtracting.
Midlife, as Brooks writes, isn’t about cramming in extra accolades; it’s about chipping away what no longer serves - shifting from performance to generativity, from novelty to teaching and pattern-recognition. Subtraction is not failure; it’s often about removing what doesn’t (or no longer) serves you.
The loneliness economy (and why Get Out exists)
We live inside a market that sells companionship back to us - AI “friends,” therapy apps, rented buddies, parasocial everything. Some of these tools help; many monetize ache. As Psychology Today notes, loneliness has become an industry - but true connection can’t be bought; it’s rebuilt face-to-face, slowly, imperfectly, together. The U.S. Surgeon General has called loneliness an epidemic with cardiometabolic risks on par with heavy smoking; the fix isn’t better notifications - it’s more neighbours, more rituals, more rooms where you’re not a product.
That’s why we built Get Out: not to be another “always on” solution, but a map. We make it easier to find your people so you don’t have to shoulder the search alone - without pretending we can do the reps for you. I can’t host events every week (capacity is real), and I won’t sell quick cures. Belonging takes time, rhythm, and your participation. Get Out is my gift to the community, not my burden and not your shortcut.
The discipline of “No”
A lot of my regret came from saying yes when my body said no - performing usefulness while neglecting myself. Saying no - to overaccommodation, to performative busyness, to obligations that cost me the life I’m trying to protect - has been a relief and a skill. As Anna Holmes writes “no” is a complete sentence and a path to self-respect, especially for people socialised to earn belonging through compliance.
My current rules:
If it dilutes the work or the relationships that keep me well, it’s a no.
If it’s a “maybe,” it’s a no for now. If it’s a yes, it’s scheduled and resourced appropriately.
What regret taught me (so you can steal it faster)
Regret = data. Write it down, extract the lesson, and set one new constraint that would have prevented it. Keep the constraint.
Design for rhythm, not spikes. Weekly touchpoints > sporadic intensity. Friendship, fitness, focus: all respond to cadence.
Choose subtraction. Every “yes” demands a “no.” Make the trade explicit.
Be skeptical of “frictionless connection.” If it never asks anything of you, it rarely forms you.
Build local. Choirs, clubs, pickup sports, volunteering - places where the same faces lower the cost of honesty, week after week.
Why I don’t regret the hard parts
The shame of lying before I came out pushed me toward truth. The burnout showed me the cost of performing. The loneliness taught me to build rooms where I don’t have to audition. I still get it wrong. But the gap between who I am and how I live is smaller - and that gap is where most of my old pain hid.
If you’re in a season of ache: don’t buy the fix; build the practice. Use regret like a compass. Say no faster. Show up smaller and more often. And if you need a map to what’s on this week, we’ve got one. I hope you’ll use it - not to escape your life, but to invest in it.