You know, every so often I’ll bump into a quote that feels like it crawled under my skin, fluffed up a pillow, and decided to stay awhile. That Mark Twain line—the one about regrets and bowlines and sailing away—hits me right behind the ribs every time I see it. Maybe it’s because I’ve made exactly too many “safe harbor” decisions in my life, the sort where you stay where it’s familiar because the familiar doesn’t bite. Or maybe it’s because I know how many times I’ve talked myself out of something I secretly wanted, usually with the weak excuse of: “Eh… maybe later.”
Spoiler: later is rarely a team player.
The Quote That Won’t Leave Me Alone
“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do.”
I swear, Twain must have had a time machine, because I’ve already lived the baby version of that. I can look back ten years and clearly see the little crossroads moments—like the weekend I almost bought a one-way ticket to Dublin because I’d convinced myself my future self would magically be braver than my present one.
Yeah. Still waiting on that upgrade.
But here’s what actually sticks with me: every time I did take the risk, even the messy ones, even the ones where I ended up flustered and feeling vaguely ridiculous… I never sat around thinking, “Wow, sure wish I’d stayed home scrolling cat videos.” The regrets always come from the hesitations, the almosts, the quiet little dreams I shoved off to the side to go alphabetize something instead.
Safe Harbor Is Cozy… But Cozy Gets Boring Fast
There’s something seductive about sticking to what you know. It’s like living your life wrapped in bubble wrap—everything muffled, nothing sharp poking through. And hey, bubble wrap is fun for about twenty seconds, and then suddenly you remember that real life is waiting outside like a golden retriever begging you to throw the damn ball.
Safe harbor is great for a nap, but it’s pretty lousy for stories.
Whenever I think about the “throw off the bowlines” part, I picture myself actually trying to work a boat and instantly realize the Coast Guard would absolutely have to intervene. But symbolically? I get it. It’s about snipping the rope between you and the life you’ve outgrown.
Some ropes are tiny. Some are more like those monster ropes used in tug-of-war competitions. But either way, they’re still tied to a version of you that wasn’t meant to steer the rest of your life.
Explore. Dream. Discover. (Or, At Least Try Something That Doesn’t Feel Like a Chore)
Twain hits you with those three little verbs—explore, dream, discover—which sound charming and breezy until you realize they require effort. Like, real actual effort. The kind where you stop talking about what you want and start messing around with reality to see what happens.
I’ve learned that “explore” doesn’t have to mean circling the globe with a backpack and a questionable water bottle. Sometimes it just means saying yes when a friend invites you somewhere you’d normally squirm out of.
“Dream”? That one’s trickier. Dreaming is easy, until suddenly you’re dreaming in circles and forgetting that dreams are supposed to be invitations, not screensavers.
And “discover”—that’s the sneaky part. Half the time, what you discover isn’t the thing you thought you were aiming for. You go looking for treasure and instead realize you’ve adopted a stray cat, or you’ve found out you’re actually kind of good at something you’d been avoiding for no real reason.
Twenty Years From Now…
Here’s the part that makes my stomach do that little wobble: twenty years will show up whether or not I do anything interesting in the meantime. It’ll just knock on the door one morning like, “Hey, remember all those things you said you’d get around to?”
And then I’ll have to answer it.
I think about future-me sometimes—older, maybe a little cranky, hopefully still able to get off the couch without making that involuntary noise I’m already making now. And I wonder what he’ll wish I’d been braver about. Which chances he’ll raise an eyebrow over. What adventures he’ll still be annoyed I chickened out on.
I don’t want that guy side-eyeing me.
So What Do We Do With This?
Honestly? I think we just start small. Nudge ourselves in a direction that feels slightly uncomfortable in a good way. Ask “what if?” and actually follow it with a sentence instead of ignoring it like a telemarketer call.
Throw off one tiny bowline today.
Something bite-sized.
Something that reminds you you’re still in motion.
The big leaps always start with one weird, wobbly little step, usually while you’re muttering, “Okay, okay, I guess we’re doing this.”
And that’s enough.
That counts.
Future-you will thank you.
When shadows with human faces begin stalking the city, a quiet librarian and his sister discover their family’s secret: a legacy of mysticism, prophecy, and a clay guardian who just might save—or doom—them all. The Golem’s Guardian – available HERE