I have become quite accomplished at not concerning myself with the consequences of my past actions. To do so is highly pointless, all control over situations and happenstances has long departed, also engages unmitigated depression. Loss of power always makes us glum and tetchy, the aura of lost promises and opportunities looming shadowlike over every subsequent moment.
Shrugging the shoulders do seem a little too indifferent, but at least momentarily a realization occurs that alternative actions and effects were possible, however obliquely. Regret is a coat we wear consequentially, often regretfully, rather painfully, a whipping post to be tethered too without particular purpose, what is gone has departed, what is lost is irredeemable.
My demeaner suggests I have no cares, no concerns about the wrongs I have inflicted, the woes my shortsightedness or foolishness laid bare, such is not the case. Realism scorns, self-forgiveness highlights sublime egocentricity, that most habitually invasive of human traits.