When I was 47 I joined my parents and brothers for an emotional pilgrimage. Our folks were celebrating their 50^th wedding anniversary, and they took us to their favorite city.

So there we landed, seven of us in Paris. My brothers brought their wives and did a bit of travel before arriving. I flew over with my parents and then stayed a bit after the “boys” left, in the apartment my parents rented on the left bank.

When we were all together we kids slept in a small hotel near the parental apartment. My brothers each had a modest room to share with spouse and I was in a single. It’s a good thing I’m into small spaces, because that was the tiniest room I’ve ever occupied on land. I could touch both side walls while lying in my narrow bed. To get to the one doorish window you had to climb over the desk. It was my own little Parisian closet.

During that week each of my brothers paid a private visit to my room. It wasn’t like they wanted to tell me anything – it just occurred that late one evening Andy and another midnight Steve came by for a visit, sat on the narrow bed next to me, and talked. I’ll never forget an exchange between Steve and me.

He spoke first. He’d been rambling about his ex-patriot experience and he uttered, “When I think about it, I have to say I have no regrets. But I’m sure if I had it to do over again I’d make different choices.”

I was astounded. I was struck by the contrast and symmetry between us. I said, “Wow. It’s just the opposite for me!” I remember his face then – he was sitting at an angle to my right and I had a three-quarter view of his attentive visage. I continued: “I definitely have some regrets. But I’m pretty sure if I had it to do over again, I’d make the same choices I did.”