Author: Kokoro Yaguchi

Second-year student at Sophia University

Publication permission was granted in February 2026

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Regret as Companion: Identity and Choice in Tuesdays with Morrie

“If you had a time machine, would you go back to your past and change your decisions in your life?” I asked my mother this question after she admitted that she sometimes imagined how her life might have unfolded if she had chosen differently. She paused, and the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock. After a moment, she answered clearly: “No. I am satisfied with my life. If I changed my choices, my life now would be different, and that would mean denying who I am today.” Her response unsettled me. I had expected hesitation or longing, not certainty. Yet her answer revealed a deeper question: how should we understand regret, not as a fleeting emotion, but as something that shapes our sense of self over time? This question lies at the heart of Tuesdays with Morrie, where Morrie repeatedly urges readers to confront regret by fully engaging with emotion and finding meaning in the present. This essay explores the theme of regret through three lenses: my conversation with my mother, close readings of Tuesdays with Morrie, and scholarly research. Understanding regret matters because misunderstanding carries real risks. We may become trapped in the past, or we may dismiss regret entirely in the name of positivity. Between these extremes lies a more complex reality, one in which regret coexists with contentment and plays a quiet but enduring role in how people live with irreversible choices. 

My mother’s perspective initially seemed to align with Morrie’s worldview. Like Morrie, she refused to romanticize alternative versions of her life. She acknowledged that she had sometimes imagined how things might have been different, particularly when she reflected on her hesitation between attending an undergraduate university or an art university, but she did not see these imaginations as reasons for dissatisfaction. However, her experience revealed something Morrie’s philosophy does not fully capture: the weight of accountability that accompanies long-term life choices. Morrie speaks from a position of distance, reflecting on life at its end. My mother, by contrast, is still actively living with the consequences of her decisions. For her, regret was not something to be resolved once and for all, but something quietly carried alongside responsibility. A subtle contradiction emerged in her narrative. While she insisted that she was satisfied with her life, she spoke in detail about missed opportunities and moments of uncertainty. This tension does not weaken her position; instead, it illustrates how regret can coexist with contentment. Her perspective suggests an understanding of identity as cumulative rather than correctable, each decision layering onto the next rather than waiting to be revised. Her generation and cultural context also shaped this view. Raised in an environment that valued stability over self-fulfillment, she learned to prioritize endurance and acceptance rather than reinvention. From this standpoint, regret is not an obstacle to overcome, but a quiet companion that helps people make peace with the lives they have chosen.

 In Tuesdays with Morrie, Albom constructs the theme of regret through Morrie’s insistence on full emotional engagement with the present. When Morrie claims that “by throwing yourself into these emotions… you experience them fully and completely” (Albom 104), the language emphasizes immersion rather than avoidance. The verb “throw” suggests an active, almost physical surrender to emotion, challenging the instinct to suppress regret. Morrie further argues that regret emerges from a lack of fulfillment: “Unsatisfied lives. Unfulfilled lives. Lives that haven’t found meaning” (Albom 118). The repetition and fragmented structure create a sense of accumulation, mirroring how dissatisfaction builds over time. For Morrie, the desire to revisit the past signals a failure to find meaning in the present. Yet my mother’s experience complicates this claim. Although she acknowledged moments of uncertainty, she expressed satisfaction with her life as it is. Her reflections suggest that imagining alternative pasts does not necessarily indicate a lack of meaning but can function as a reflective practice through which people affirm their choices. Morrie’s emphasis on acceptance appears again when he urges readers to “accept who you are and revel in that” and to “find what’s good and true and beautiful in your life as it is now” (Albom 120). Acceptance here is framed as an embrace of the present self. However, Morrie also warns that “looking back makes you competitive” (Albom 120), portraying retrospection as a threat to inner peace. Read alongside my mother’s experience, this warning seems overly narrow. Her reflections did not lead to envy or comparison, but to continuity and accountability.

Scholarly research further deepens both perspectives. Psychological studies distinguish between adaptive and maladaptive forms of regret. While reflective regret can promote learning and meaning-making, excessive regret is strongly associated with rumination and depressive symptoms (Wrosch et al. 667). This distinction challenges Morrie’s assumption that emotional immersion alone leads to resolution. Sociological research also reveals what neither Morrie nor my mother explicitly addresses: regret is shaped by the structure of choice in modern societies. Schwartz argues that cultures characterized by an abundance of choice increase the likelihood of regret, as individuals become more aware of unrealized alternatives (64). From this perspective, my mother’s reflections are not simply personal hesitation but responses to broader cultural pressures surrounding success and self-determination. Philosophically, Ricoeur’s theory of narrative identity suggests that individuals continually reinterpret past decisions to sustain a coherent sense of self over time (147). Regret, then, is not an emotion to be overcome, but part of an ongoing narrative process. This framework reframes regret as something that must be continually negotiated across emotional, cultural, and narrative dimensions of life.

Through this process, my understanding of regret underwent a significant shift. Initially, I was drawn to Morrie’s emphasis on emotional immersion, believing that fully confronting regret would naturally lead to resolution. My conversation with my mother challenged this assumption. Her refusal to undo the past revealed restraint as a form of responsibility toward the life one is still living. At the same time, research on rumination forced me to reconsider my tendency to romanticize reflection, as if more analysis always leads to clarity. I realized that regret demands balance: too little engagement risks denial, while too much risks paralysis. Asking my mother these questions also confronted my own fear of making the “wrong” decisions. I began to see that such fear is inseparable from caring deeply about how one lives.

This study taught me that regret is not a flaw in human life, but an inevitable consequence of making serious choices. To live is to allow time to move forward while alternatives fall away. Regret emerges precisely because our choices carry weight. Reading Tuesdays with Morrie, speaking with my mother, and engaging with scholarly research showed me that regret cannot be reduced to a single lesson. It is neither something to erase nor something to surrender to. Instead, it exists in the tension between remembering and continuing, between who we were and who we are becoming. Like the ticking clock in my mother’s living room, regret does not ask us to turn back time; it asks us to listen carefully as we decide how to live with the moments that remain.

Works Cited

Albom, Mitch. Tuesdays with Morrie: An Old Man, a Young Man, and Life’s Greatest Lesson. 25th Anniversary ed., Broadway Books, 2022.

Ricoeur, Paul. Oneself as Another. Translated by Kathleen Blamey, University of Chicago Press, 1992, pp. 113–68.

Schwartz, Barry. The Paradox of Choice: Why More Is Less. HarperCollins, 2004, pp. 47–76.

Wrosch, Carsten, et al. “Regret and Quality of Life Across the Adult Life Span: The Influence of Disengagement and Available Future Goals.”  Psychology and Aging, vol. 20, no. 4, 2005, pp. 657–70.