The Five Things We Wish We'd Done Differently

Recently I heard Dr. Espen Wold-Jensen — breathwork teacher and author of Quantum Breath — talk about the reflections of Bronnie Ware, and it touched me deeply.

Bronnie was a palliative carer in Australia. For years she sat with people in the last weeks of their lives. She listened as they looked back, and she noticed that the same regrets came up again and again. She wrote about them in a blog called Regrets of the Dying.

These are the five she heard most often:

I wish I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.

I wish I hadn't worked so hard.

I wish I'd had the courage to express my feelings.

I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.

I wish that I had let myself be happier.

Read them slowly. Which one makes something in your chest go quiet?

Not one of them is about money, titles or achievements. Every one is about courage, connection and presence — and every one is still within your reach. You are still here. You are still breathing.

So this month, we won't just read them. We'll live them, one at a time. Each week I'll go deeper into one regret and share a practice to go with it. Today we begin with the first.

This was the regret Bronnie heard most. Looking back, people saw how many of their dreams had gone unlived — not because they were impossible, but because they never felt free to choose them.

Maybe you know this feeling. From the outside, everything looks fine — the job, the home, the calendar full of things you're good at. And yet somewhere inside there's a quiet voice asking, Is this really mine?

Many of us built our lives on should. What our parents hoped for. What looked sensible. What kept everyone comfortable. Your nervous system loves this, because it treats the familiar as safe and the new as dangerous — even when the new is exactly what you long for.

Here's the thing: you can't live true to yourself if you can't hear yourself. Courage doesn't begin with a big leap. It begins with coming home to your own body — and listening.

Find a quiet moment and sit comfortably. Place one hand on your heart and one on your belly.

Breathe in slowly through your nose for a count of five, feeling your belly rise under your hand. Breathe out through your nose for a count of five. Stay with this rhythm for ten rounds — no forcing, just a soft, steady wave.

Then, still breathing, silently ask: What do I truly want — if no one else's opinion mattered?

Don't answer with your head. Notice your body instead. Warmth, tightness, tears, a tiny smile, or nothing at all — all of it is welcome. Take three more breaths, then write down the first thing that came up, however small or surprising.

Ikigai is a Japanese word that roughly means a reason for being — what makes life feel worth living. In Japan it is often beautifully ordinary: tending a garden, a morning ritual, the people you love. It doesn't have to be one grand purpose.

In the West, ikigai is often drawn as four overlapping circles, and it makes a lovely map for self-discovery. Right after your breathing practice, take a page and answer four questions: What do I love? What am I good at? What does the world need from me? What could I be paid for?

Write from the body, not from your CV. Then look at where your answers overlap — that's where your aliveness lives. And if one circle has taken over the whole page, notice that too. We'll come back to it.

If you'd like some structure, here is a free printable ikigai worksheet.

Next week, I'll reveal two regrets that belong together — and the practice that goes with them. Here's a small hint: it's about where your time goes, and who's missing from it.

Keep your ikigai page close. You'll need it.

Credit: Dr. Espen Wold-Jensen, author of Quantum Breath (Hay House, August 2026).

With love,

Gosia

Brave Soul Thrive