A lot of things have happened that I wish I could have just

The words of Chris Mullin—“A lot of things have happened that I wish I could have just walked away from. But you wind up saying, ‘This is what it is—how does it get better, or how does it affect you, or how can you influence it in a positive way?’”—speak with the voice of one who has wrestled with regret and chosen not to be crushed by it. They carry the wisdom of acceptance, of meeting life as it comes, and of transforming burdens into opportunities for growth. Mullin does not speak as one untouched by trial, but as one who has walked through it and learned that the way forward is not denial, nor escape, but endurance and transformation.

The origin of such wisdom lies in the ancient truth that human beings cannot always choose their circumstances, but they can always choose their response. To wish to walk away is natural; to endure is heroic. Mullin’s words echo the lessons of Stoic philosophy, which taught that life’s blows are inevitable, but their impact on the soul depends on how we frame them. “This is what it is,” he says, and in those words lies the power of acceptance: not passive surrender, but the clear-eyed recognition of reality as the first step toward transformation.

Consider the example of Abraham Lincoln, whose life was marked by repeated failures—failed businesses, lost elections, and personal tragedy. Again and again, he might have walked away from public life, surrendering to despair. Yet he chose instead to ask, “How does it get better?” From his persistence arose leadership that preserved a nation. His story embodies the truth of Mullin’s words: that life’s trials are not the end, but the forge in which character is tempered.

Another example may be found in Nelson Mandela, who endured decades in prison under an oppressive regime. He could have walked away from hope, surrendering to bitterness. Instead, he asked, “How can I influence this in a positive way?” When freedom finally came, he used his position not for revenge but for reconciliation. The world remembers him not for the pain he suffered, but for the greatness with which he transformed that pain into a force for healing.

The meaning of Mullin’s words is therefore both humble and profound. They remind us that life is not about avoiding hardship, but about facing it with wisdom. The past cannot always be changed, nor can every sorrow be escaped. But we can always ask: How does this shape me? How can I grow from it? How can I turn it into something positive? This mindset is the difference between despair and resilience, between regret and redemption.

The lesson for us is clear: do not flee from what has already come to pass. Instead, stand firm and ask the higher questions. Do not be trapped in “Why me?” but move toward “What now?” Each hardship carries within it a seed of strength. If you nurture it, it will grow into wisdom, courage, and compassion. If you neglect it, it will wither into bitterness. The choice is yours.

Practical wisdom calls us to action: when trials arise, pause and acknowledge them—“This is what it is.” Then take the next step: seek the positive path. Ask how the moment can build you rather than break you. Help others when you can, for in service lies healing. And remember that resilience is not born of fleeing but of staying, of enduring, of transforming what was meant for harm into a source of strength.

Thus, let Mullin’s words endure as a guiding light: you may not walk away from every trial, but you can walk through them with dignity. What matters is not that hardship comes—it always will—but that you meet it with courage, that you influence it in a positive way, and that you allow it to shape you into one who carries wisdom for yourself and hope for others. In this lies the path not only to endurance, but to greatness.