A Pandora Paradox.

Don’t regret doing something before it’s too late

This is a strange thought to unpack—how can you regret something unless you actually do it? It's not a new idea to think about, but it hit me hard lately. So, I'm responding to my evening mind—because that was the time of day the idea started talking to me.

The thought, “Don’t regret doing something before it’s too late,” has been bouncing around in my head, and I’m trying to make sense of it.

Let me break it down: I don’t regret things I haven’t done. If I didn’t do something last week, then it didn’t happen. It’s not part of my story. But if I did do something—let’s say, a decision that didn’t turn out the way I’d hoped—I might regret it, especially if the outcome was negative. In any event, negative or undesirable results can be seen as opportunities rather than obstacles. And when we do or we do not, it’s all part of our story.

But if I don’t do it, how can I ever know whether I should have? Unless something catastrophic happens because I didn’t or did do it, I’ll never really know. That’s the paradox I’m exploring here.

To help explain this, I’ll tell a little story—because even as I write this, the clarity is still forming. This blog is going for a bit of a walk. I know where I’m headed—my vanishing point is visible—but the terrain is a little uncertain. I wouldn’t say I’m lost, just moving through some wild and personal terrain.

So here it goes.

A few years back, I decided to buy a car. At that time, I’d been living in Thailand for six years without one. I waited at least three years, carefully weighing my options: new vs. used, private seller vs. dealership. Seeking advice from foreigners and Thai's alike. The used market here is huge but risky. You often don’t know what you're getting. 

There are few consumer protections—no certification, basic government regulations, or oversight systems like we have in Ontario, Canada—and questionable practices abound. I was nervous, to say the least. And while there were a few indicators that this was a good decision, those same indicators also suggested it might be a poor one due to the timing.

Job security hung in the balance.

That, combined with a recent history of making several financial and personal decisions that cost me both money and relationships, weighed heavily on me. So, when I was deciding whether or not to buy a car, that same thread of instability and recent setbacks was deeply tied to the decision.

Eventually, in April 2024, after countless test drives and dead ends, I pulled the trigger and bought a brand-new car. A 2024 model. It was beautiful. A sleek, mid-range sedan. Not a flashy sports car, but comfortable, reliable, road-trip-ready. It cost me 1.2 million baht—the most expensive purchase I’d ever made for myself. I justified it. I was turning 60. I’d never bought a new car before. I saw it as a culmination gift to myself. I told myself I deserved it. It was not the car of my dreams. It came as close as I could get within the affordable range.

But there was one variable I hadn’t factored into my careful analysis: job security.

I assumed I’d be offered a 2-year contract renewal. After six years of loyal service, I believed it was a given. That didn’t happen.

So, there I was: new car, new loan, and two months later received a notice of termination while on holiday. The timing couldn’t have been worse. Unemployed and possibly unemployable, I tried to keep the car as long as I could, using savings and passive income from Canada to cover the monthly payments. But by December, a new image appeared on the vision board.

A sad face with brooding eyes was scribbled on the hood of the car. My account was draining fast. The job search was going nowhere. People weren’t hiring—maybe because of my age, maybe other reasons. I was stuck.

So, I made a hard choice: I sold the car in December 2024.

Although a pain at first, selling it was actually much easier than buying it. After a few attempts at the will of my own footwork, I brought it back to the dealer and got what I considered a fair price. It was a smart move. I needed to let go of the liability. I walk away feeling relieved and satisfied that I can still make a good decision.

Funny twist? I did eventually get a job—in June 2025. Much later than I expected and for much less money. The job requires me to live outside of Bangkok during the week and return home on weekends. The commute is long and costly. Ironically, having a car now would actually help financially plus the simple convivence of being able to drive myself and remain in my Bangkok townhouse weekdays. But I don’t have a car anymore. Plus, I hate commuting long distances.

So, do I regret buying the car?

Sort of.

I don’t regret owning it. I loved that car. But I regret the timing. I regret placing my faith in people who ultimately betrayed me. I should have waited to buy until I had a signed contract in hand. I regret trusting in the good faith of others more than I trusted my own instincts.

What I really learned is this: I can’t afford to make big decisions based on assumptions or hope. Not anymore. At this stage of life, I need to be smarter. More cautious. There’s no safety net waiting to catch me. Other than my two kids and my current partner, no one’s looking out for me. That’s just the truth.

I don’t regret selling the car. That was the right call.

But I do reflect on the type of car I chose and the process I followed. If I’d stuck with my original modest budget, found a basic commuter car, and paid cash or at least 60% down, I probably could’ve kept it—even through hard times. But small, preowned, reliable cars are hard to find here. The risk-to-value ratio didn’t add up.

So, what’s the takeaway?

Regret is a kind of absurdism - a joke within a joke and a slight of hand mastered by one's timeline.

How do we avoid regret without ever taking the risk that might lead to it? I only know not to do something because I did it. Let's not talk about putting my hand in to the fire or eating only fast food and drinking alcohol everyday day - I know to not do that - mmm...other's may not know though.

I guess the best we can do is make decisions with open eyes—and when the outcome doesn’t go our way, reflect, learn, and recalibrate.

Because sometimes the only way to know what not to do—is to do it.

An interesting thought to roll around in your mind—maybe on a Sunday morning with coffee or a Saturday night with a good, smart cocktail. But Don't drink and drive!