the what-ifs that never were
illusory stories that creep and intrude into memories acting as if they deserve to be there
I imported old posts from an old newsletter, but oddly, not all of them drifted over, so those stragglers are gonna be posted occasionally as new posts, but you’ve already read them if you’ve been with She’s my rushmore for years, so go ahead and bounce out now. If you’re newish here, and a bit bored, have a looksy around my updated archive. Maybe there’s something relatable there. The following was originally posted June 15, 2021. Edited.
What if I had mustered up the courage to take that greyhound bus frequently seen driving through town at 3am while on my way to a disheartening job? After arriving at work, I often dreamed about it, wondering where it was going and if it would be going far enough away to allow the sensation of freedom. How many people were on it? Would I get my own seat when boarding or would I have to bring out my weak chit-chat skills? What if I never went to work and detoured to the bus station one morning? Buy a ticket, board, and go. No time to say goodbye to friends and family now. I’ll notify them later. This is for me and my need to fulfill this emptiness within that can only be satisfied by traveling; traveling to an unknown destination. I would figure it out later. I often dreamed that the destination wouldn’t matter. I would buy a ticket for whichever bus was leaving first, go, arrive at the destination, and then do it again. I would buy a cheap camera and notebook, and start a journal for my adventures. Maybe I would figure out how to properly use social media and become interesting enough to get followers that would pay to see where I go next. I would make a living out of traveling. The greyhound bus would become home. But I watched my home drive away as I unfailingly always went to work.
What if my great-grandma was still alive? Come the holidays as a kid, I knew there was never the question of where is this holiday being held this year? It would faithfully be at my great-grandparents’ house. Both are now gone, but she was the matriarch of the family, the glue that held the little immediate families together. After her death, the question where is this holiday being held this year? now existed in our worlds. It’s still asked every holiday and every holiday nobody has a confirmed answer. Each family usually winds up doing something small and on their own (can’t say I don’t welcome this as I never was a family-function-get-together kind of person). But I often wonder how our lives would be today if she lived on. Would holidays still be held at her house as everyone got older and the great-grandkids starting having kids of their own? If so, would the families be closer? Would the Easter eggs still be hidden in all the same places? If I stayed the night, how many more middle of the night wisdomatic conversations would I have learned from her? Would I be different from knowing her longer? There would undoubtedly be a poodle around to play with. She would be 107 now.
What if I had moved out of state years ago (both times the opportunity arose)? Maybe I would be living in a studio apartment above a Chinese restaurant (not dissimilar to the one in that Seinfeld episode) like I always wanted. Maybe I would be a freelance writer for top magazines and be a published author. I would go to the ocean with my dogs every day to play, read, write, and nap at my leisure. I would come home and get food from the bottom floor of my building and fall asleep on the couch to the comforting static of an old classic Hollywood film with my dogs snoring beside me. In the mornings I would take them for a walk to a local coffee shop and as they sit beside me at a little table outside, they would make the passerbyer’s day because they are so goddamn majestic. The derpiest majestic dogs. How many different people would be in my life? Would they be in it for the better or the worse? Maybe, at the end of the day, I would just be a professional dog-walker because the weather would be nice and the dogs would be lovely and not working with people would be agreeable.
But the what-ifs that never were don’t belong here. They don’t belong in the memories. There isn’t any room for illusory scenarios, and yet, there they are, existing, making room, shoving god knows what aside to make room for themselves. The what-ifs are often thought about, but not to the extreme. Not enough to deter from the truths, but enough to distract from the moment. As the saying goes, things happen for a reason, so why wonder about the what-ifs and about stories that never played out… about stories that perhaps would have never played out no matter what life shift happened? Kismet is kismet and kismet is inescapable. Even so, I often wonder about the road not taken, but you’ll never get anywhere if you go about what-iffing like that. -Roald Dahl
It’s all nonsense and a waste of time and we could all be using that daydreaming time for something better and more productive because none of it means anything anyway. It all didn’t happen and never will happen and I’m sure it was all for good reason that none of it did ever happened. But the stories creep without warning. Does your mind amuse itself and before you know it you’re five minutes into a fraudulent daydream? Ugh.
—
Hi! If you like my ramblings, please join me over at Substack at https://hrhowell.substack.com — there’s a lot more over there. Cheers!
Originally published at https://hrhowell.substack.com.
