I certainly hope so. But it’s hard, you know.

I guess it depends what the mistakes are. Some are easier than others. Some, well.

Two I have special problems with. The mistake of not daring to start writing again after I got married and was told by my new husband that my style needed maturing. Oh, I wrote alright - for newspapers, especially - but not the novel I was burning to write. And not with the voice that was mine because suddenly I didn’t think it was worth using anymore.

I waited many long years to start that writing, and I’m still struggling to find my voice again. I should not have let his criticism (which was not mean-spirited, to be clear; he meant well) affect me so much for so long. I guess I’ll laugh that one off once I get my first bestseller.

The other one is to have agreed to get married. I was never meant for this institution. I knew it and got hitched anyway. Because I wanted to be normal.

It didn’t work. I guess normal isn’t for me. I was not at all meant for the role of wife and the strain almost broke me. I’m better now, but there’s no laughing about that. Certainly not for a while.

The rest? The bad jobs I took or the investments that didn’t pan out as expected? That ridiculous blue I picked for the walls in the old bedroom twenty years ago? Yeah. Those are easy to laugh at, and I indulge heartily.