Risk is Better Than Regret

Elena stood at the train station, her suitcase trembling in her hand—not because of its weight, but because her resolve was wavering. The departure board flashed her train: Berlin – 8:45 AM – On Time. The world she had known for 27 years was behind her. Ahead was a city she'd only seen in photographs, a language she barely spoke, and a life she wasn’t sure she could build.

She looked back at the platform bench where her mother had waved goodbye with forced pride. Her mother’s eyes had given her away—full of fear, maybe disappointment, maybe love. “Are you sure?” she had asked, one last time. Elena had nodded, unsure.

She had spent too many years living safely. A job in a local insurance office. A long, dull relationship with a man who treated passion like a chore. Friends who always asked, “Why would you want more?”

It was a single moment that broke her. Six months earlier, she had visited her cousin, Rosa, in Prague. They had wandered through ancient streets and old cafés. Rosa had told stories of love, art, mistakes, and freedom. Elena had listened, her chest tightening with a strange mix of envy and inspiration.

That night, Rosa had said, “You don’t have to know the outcome. You just have to know you can’t stay still.”

Those words haunted Elena until she finally did something that scared her. She quit her job. She ended her relationship. She applied for a design course in Berlin. She bought a one-way ticket.

And now she stood here, heart pounding, wondering if she was the biggest fool on the platform.

The train ride felt like a lifetime.

Elena watched the countryside blur by, her thoughts louder than the rails. What if she failed? What if she hated it? What if she didn’t belong?

But another voice, quieter, more persistent, whispered back: What if you thrive?

Berlin was colder than she expected, but the city buzzed with energy. Her tiny apartment smelled of fresh paint and cheap soap, but it was hers. The design course was tough, the students younger and sharper, but she showed up every day. Some days, she barely spoke. Other days, she surprised herself.

One night, after class, she stayed behind to clean up a forgotten mess in the studio. A classmate named Theo walked in.

“You’re not afraid of doing the ugly parts,” he said.

Elena laughed. “That’s where the growth is, right?”

They started talking. Then meeting. Then creating together. He was chaotic and bold, painting like he was chasing a storm. She was precise, thoughtful. They argued often. They laughed more.

He asked about her past.

“I played it safe for too long,” she admitted. “I kept waiting for permission to live.”

Theo didn’t judge. He just nodded. “Then you’re exactly where you should be.”

Months passed.

Elena’s portfolio grew. So did her confidence. She submitted a piece to an art exhibition—something she would have never dared to do before. It was called “Unmapped”, a collage of torn maps, old ticket stubs, and handwritten fears.

It was accepted.

Opening night came, and as people wandered through the gallery, Elena stood in the corner, watching strangers stop at her work. Some tilted their heads. Some took pictures. One woman cried.

Theo came up beside her. “You took the risk.”

Elena smiled. “And I don’t regret it.”

A year later, Elena returned home for a short visit. Her mother met her at the airport, eyes filled with something different this time—pride, maybe understanding.

Over tea, her mother said, “You look… alive.”

“I am,” Elena said simply.

She walked through her old neighborhood, past the office where she once spent her days watching the clock, past the café where she always ordered the same thing. Everything looked the same. But she didn’t.

Before she left, a childhood friend asked her if she would ever move back.

Elena paused. “Maybe. But only if it’s where my heart leads me. Not because it’s where I’m supposed to stay.”

On the flight back to Berlin, Elena looked out the window at the clouds below.

She thought of all the moments that had terrified her—the train station, the first class, the first rejection. And how each fear had led to something brighter.

For years, she had waited for certainty. But certainty had never come. Only the slow decay of a life half-lived.

Now she knew: risk wasn’t the enemy—regret was.

And regret would never get to write her story again.