Hindsight is the Foresight of a Gobshite…

You ever notice how some people are absolute experts on your life after the fact?

You could be standing in the smouldering ruins of a disaster of epic proportions, be it a relationship, a job, a family feud, or one of those “Sure, it seemed like a good idea at the time” moments, and there’s always someone ready to pipe up with:

“Well now, I wouldn’t have done that.”

Would you not? Isn’t it grand to be wise with the benefit of hindsight?

There’s an old saying here in Ireland, and it’s one I’m adopting as gospel:

“Hindsight is the foresight of a gobshite.”

And I’ll tell you why. Because it’s very easy to be a genius in the rear-view mirror. It’s easy to sit in a warm kitchen with a cuppa in your hand and smugly dissect other people’s past decisions, but it’s a whole other thing when you’re in the thick of it yourself, when your heart’s racing, your gut’s twisted, and everything you thought was solid has turned to shifting sand.

And let’s be honest, we’ve all been the gobshite. I’ve made a career of it at times. I can’t count the number of nights I’ve found myself staring at the ceiling at 3am, replaying conversations, over-analyzing choices, and wondering how in the name of God I didn’t see that particular disaster coming. And it’s funny, isn’t it? In those moments, every red flag you missed suddenly turns neon. Every gut feeling you dismissed as paranoia is now a full-blown prophecy. Every ancestor you ignored is probably somewhere up there, shaking their head, going “Well, we did try to tell her.”

And you know what? It changes absolutely nothing.

That’s the kicker. All the what-ifs and should-haves in the world won’t rewind the clock. The only thing it does is rob you of your peace in the here and now.

I spent years like that, especially during the days I was looking after my dad. Painting was my escape. A way to turn the noise down and lose myself in colour and texture. I’d sit for hours, paintbrush in one hand, reality on mute, and before I knew it, the day was gone and I’d somehow painted the same haunted-looking woman’s face half a dozen times. She usually looked like she knew a few secrets I didn’t. And maybe she did.

The thing is, life isn’t tidy. It doesn’t come with signposts. You don’t get a little alert on your phone warning you that someone’s about to pull a fast one, or that this path you’re about to choose is going to land you knee-deep in heartache and legal fees. You go with your gut. You follow what feels right. Sometimes it works out beautifully. Sometimes you end up flat on your arse.

And both are fine. Because I genuinely believe we learn more from the arse-over-head moments than we ever do from the neat, easy wins.

I’ve stopped beating myself up about it now. Stopped giving time to the people who act like they’ve never made a mistake in their lives. Because, if we’re being honest, anyone who claims that is either lying or they’ve lived so cautiously they might as well not have bothered at all.

And don’t get me started on the ones who claim they “knew it all along.”
If you knew, and you said nothing, you’re not wise, you’re a wagon.

These days, I measure a person not by how many mistakes they’ve avoided, but by how well they’ve recovered from the ones they didn’t. And by whether they’re humble enough to laugh at themselves afterwards.

I’m still the odd gobshite. I’ll probably stay that way.

But I’ll tell you this, I trust myself now more than I ever did in my twenties when I thought I had it all figured out. I know when to speak up, when to walk away, when to listen to the ancestors (usually when the kettle’s on), and when to pick up a paintbrush and let the world look after itself for a while.

Because in the end, the only one you owe an explanation to is yourself.
And maybe that haunted-looking woman in the painting.

But she’ll keep her secrets.