Poor Notre Dame.
While visiting London around a decade ago, I decided on a whim to take the Eurostar over to Paris for a day. Several hours later I stood before the cathedral but sadly — now more than ever — was too done with being a tourist to go inside.
I wish I’d pushed through. And now I can’t help but wonder what percentage of one’s time in old age consists of both shouldering and trying to ignore all the regrets of things undone (or foolishly done) along the way.
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