$pent Millennial

Dear Reader,

If only…

If only, if only, the woodpecker sighs…

There’s something almost comforting about that phrase—if only. It rolls off the tongue so easily, like a solution disguised as a wish. Like if we just name the thing that should have gone differently, somehow it makes the reality in front of us easier to sit with.

But it doesn’t.

More often than not, if only just keeps us stuck.

We all do it. I certainly do. We catch ourselves thinking how things would be better if only someone had acted differently… if only they had said the right thing, made the better choice, shown up the way we needed them to. We build entire alternate realities where everything works out exactly as we think it should—according to our plans, our timing, our sense of what’s fair.

And to be honest, I’ve noticed that I tend to spend less time there than some people in my life. Not because I’m above it, but because I’ve learned—sometimes the hard way—how unhelpful it actually is.

Because when everything becomes if only, it’s easy to forget that other people exist outside of our expectations. They have their own perspectives, their own circumstances, their own limitations. The world doesn’t orbit us, no matter how convincing that inner narrative can be.

I even have people I love dearly who fall into this pattern often. And if I’m being really honest, when the “if only” song starts playing on repeat, I can feel myself rolling my eyes. Not because I don’t care—but because I know where it leads.

Now, that’s not to say I never get frustrated or call things unfair. I do. There are plenty of moments where I wish things had gone differently, where I can clearly see how a different choice—someone else’s choice—would have made my life easier.

But I try not to live there.

Because what does it actually do for me?

I can spend my time wishing a boss were less toxic. Wishing people voted differently. Wishing someone had treated me better, shown up more, done more, been more. But none of that changes the reality I’m in. It doesn’t move me forward. It doesn’t give me anything to work with.

It’s like the woodpecker trying to change the bark on the tree.

It’s not happening.

So instead, I come back to the only place where I have any real influence: myself.

What can I do with what’s in front of me?
What can I change, shift, or build from here?
What’s within my control—and what do I want to do about it?

Lately, as I’ve been navigating some changes and reflecting on things I wish had gone differently, I keep coming back to that image—the wolf waiting, hoping, if only-ing.

And realizing that if I want something to be different, I can’t just sit there howling at the moon.

I have to move.

If only might feel comfortable in the moment, but it’s a terrible place to stay.

Until next week—take care,
Everett

P.S. If you are wondering about the woodpecker and the wolf, may I introduce you to Holes by Louis Sachar (You are welcome).