I’m sipping wine on a terrace of the Hotel Borgo Antica Hotel outside Monteroni d’Arbia. My eyes linger over the silhouettes of the cedar trees and Italian cypresses backlit by the setting sun. My ears pick-up the barking of dogs, and, at times, the roar of a motorcycle on the highway in the distance. Admiring the flagstone terrace, the sand and red  colored stone walls, the gentle stone arches of the doorways, I’m reminded that this building used to be a medieval hospice for pilgrims. Nice! I wonder if those pilgrims long ago ever sipped wine like this. I wonder if they can feel relaxed after a gorgeous day walking through the Tuscany countryside.

I also wonder about Joe who I met today. Joe, a retired German military officer, and Monica, a German public servant, are hiking together. Today has been a classic day of walking in Tuscany. After leaving the more forested area before and after Siena, I entered the rolling hills and ridges of “Toscana” with rows and rows of cypress trees. Rather than the cramped vision prior to Siena, I can see for miles. Earlier today, as I looked ahead in the distance, I noticed two figures hiking, Joe and Monica. I followed them for an hour or two.

Prior to catching up with them, I walked through a very small village. Upon leaving the village and reentering  the countryside, I notice a baseball hat lying on the ground. Although baseball hats have usually identified its wearer as a North American, baseball hats are now a global accessory. I’ve seen Italian and Spanish village markets where tables are filled with baseball hats. Italians, Spaniards, Germans, Australians, Brazilians, and everybody else now wear baseball hats.

I stare at the hat. Should I pick it up? It might be a hiker’s hat. If I pick it up, I might be able to return it to its owner. But the hat might also be a local kid’s hat. If I leave the hat here, the kid will probably return to find it. I decide to leave the hat. But, before leaving, I move the hat from the ground to a more visible small shrub branch. Maybe the owner will return to find it.

I eventually reach Joe and Monica as they rest on a tree-shaded bench. What is Joe doing? He is lathering his bald scalp with a large handful of sunscreen. Heck! His actions tell the story. I ask him, “Have you lost a baseball hat?” “Yup!” I tell him about my quandary whether to pick up the hat a couple of miles back. “I regret that I didn’t pick it up for you!” Graciously he responds, “Don’t worry, I’ll buy a new hat the first chance I get.” As a northern European, he’s probably going to have a good case of sunburn before that first chance.

Regrets come in all shapes and sizes. I might regret that I miss lunch or have a hard bed for the night. I might regret that I didn’t check my feet before walking because that hot spot is forming a blister. I might regret that I miss Mary and other friends from back home. I might regret that I haven’t maintained contact with friends from forty or fifty years ago. As I add the years to my life, I also add the number and range of regrets. Such is life!

Yet, I’m trying to look at regrets as something more, as both a sign and as an opportunity. Regrets may be a sign that that past experience can be something, in its incompleteness, for which I can be grateful. Regrets may be an opportunity to act differently when that event or situation or person reoccurs in the future.

I know that such thoughts aren’t earth shattering. Yet, that is how the Via Francigena allows me to step into the present. It allows me to feel the dilemma of picking up a baseball hat, to feel the quandary and then the regret, and then to connect that regret with previous past and future regret. Nothing earth shattering. But certainly revelatory.