Have you ever heard someone — maybe a motivational speaker or a celebrity on a talk show— expound on how they achieve all their dreams, how they defy all of the odds, take chances and have no regrets?

I have. And frankly, I’m a little perturbed by it.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for stretching, growing and becoming better. But I get a little bent out of shape when people suggest that the only way to live a happy, healthy, balanced life is to have no regrets.

I think what they’re trying to say is, “Don’t miss great opportunities because you’re scared.” Which I appreciate. I get it. Lots of times we steer clear of situations in an effort to avoid the crash-and-burn of embarrassment if we fail. That’s good advice. Just make sure you have car insurance that covers death by humiliation.

And I’m not talking about general, everyday kinds of regret, either. The, “Oh, I forgot to pick up powdered sugar at the store and now my 5-year-old is going to wonder why the heck her birthday cake doesn’t have frosting” kind of regret. Because, let’s face it, we make mistakes.

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I’m also not talking about the kind of regret that comes when we do very stupid things. I’m not going to give examples here, but if you can’t remember a great deal of the party you went to last weekend, perhaps you should ponder this particular brand of regret a little longer.

No. I’m talking about the deep, heart-wrenching kind of regret that comes when you have two wonderful choices placed before you on the road of life and you have to choose which fork to take. In my short — although remarkably astute — lifetime, I have observed that these kinds of choices happen to almost everyone at some point or another. Choosing between a right and a wrong, between a good and a bad is easy. Choosing between two phenomenals — well, that’s a bit more of a challenge.

I used to think of life in black and white. Every choice was either right or wrong. Every road was either good or bad. Choosing the right one brought you happiness and choosing the wrong one brought you a visit from your local sheriff. Then I started to grow up and I considered the possibility of grey.

Some choices on the road of life are not clearly delineated. Like driving down an old highway where the lines have been burned off by the heat of the sun and the friction of a thousand tires, it’s not clear where one lane ends and another begins. Right and wrong sometimes overlap.

Recently, my paradigm about decisionmaking went fully into Technicolor. You see, I live on a tiny Air Force station in the northeastern corner of North Dakota. It’s called Cavalier Air Force Station. You’ve never heard of it? That’s OK. Other than the personnel who work here, only Canadian geese and a few wild turkeys know the exact location.

Cavalier AFS is a radar facility which exists to watch for incoming missiles over the northern U.S. border and to monitor satellites. It’s home to about 10 families and 20 or so single service men and women. If nowhere was a place, Cavalier AFS would be squarely in the middle of it.

I knew my husband's assignment at the station would be remote, but I didn’t realize I would have to drive 100 miles to get to Target or Walmart. The sacrifices we make to support our loved ones who defend the country.

After the shock of living so far away from everything set in, I started to reconsider our choice. What have we done? We thought we were being noble and patriotic and providing for our family with an honest day’s work. But instead, the reality we’re faced with is getting to know ticks a little bit too intimately and not being able to get to know our neighbors well at all because they are either our commanding officers or subordinates.

I started trying to classify this detour on our road of life. Was this a wrong decision? Well, our children aren’t starving or drug dealers, so maybe it’s not wrong. In fact, it wasn't even grey. Coming to Cavalier AFS was not wrong in any way. But why would a decision that’s not wrong have so many hard consequences attached to it?

And that’s when I realized that, like the colors of the rainbow, each choice has different characteristics and distinguishing attributes. Some choices are blue and some are red. One choice may be periwinkle while another may be tangerine, but that doesn’t make tangerine evil or periwinkle sinful. It just means different choices lead to different experiences.

When I was a kid, I wanted to be on Broadway. Really. It’s a dream that I nurtured until I got married and was faced with a fork in the road. I was diagnosed with some fertility problems, so I could pursue my musical aspirations or I could get a move on with my family. Either choice would be exceptionally fulfilling. Either one would help me grow and become better. And either one would break my heart to give up.

So I chose a family. And boy, do I have some regrets in all their multi-hued glory. Don't misunderstand me — I love my four children and husband dearly and would repeat my choices again if I had to live it over. However, I regret not learning everything that I wanted to. I regret not being able to take that other road and see where it would lead. I wanted to travel both roads, and the great conundrum of mortality is that we can only be in one place at one time.

So as I drive my 100 miles to Walmart, it gives me time to think about my life. And I've decided it’s OK to think, “Wow. I miss periwinkle now that everything is nice and tangerine around here.”

It’s perfectly acceptable to take a fork in the road that leads you through crazy backwoods detours where the two most prestigious restaurants are named “The Chuckwagon” and “The Stables,” respectively.

As far as I’m concerned, a happy, balanced life will be one that is signposted with regrets showing routes you would have liked to take, but gave up for something you wanted slightly more. Life isn’t about living without regrets — it’s about choosing which regrets you can live with.

Miranda H. Lotz is a military wife, mother of four, bibliophile and musician. She lives on a remote Air Force station in Cavalier, North Dakota.

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