I like my life. A lot, actually. It’s a good one. Cozy, calm, content. I’ve got several things in my favor. My health, first and foremost, my son’s health, his dad’s health. I have a good job. I live in a great neighborhood in relatively close proximity to a major metropolitan area rich with culture and art. I feel fortunate. I don’t wish for a different life.

But I’m human, and it’s human to wonder “what if” about things big and small. What if I hadn’t taken this job or that one? What if I’d gone to all the parties in college instead of staying in all the time? What if I hadn’t bounced around the country for several years post college? What if I’d taken a different route to work this morning? What if I’d smiled at that older woman at Starbucks instead of remaining glued to this laptop? Maybe it would’ve changed her day, somehow, which would have…well, what if. Endless.   

I don’t find myself meandering to that place often, probably because I see no need. Sometimes, though, it takes on a weird shade of psychological entertainment to flirt with the notion that my circumstances might be wildly different had I made one or two choices otherwise. A butterfly effect of sorts. In the end, though, it’s the kind of thing that’ll drive you nuts if you ponder it too long.

When a “what if” session rolls on through my brain, my thought process usually slows to a natural stop with this quote from author Cheryl Strayed:

“I’ll never know, and neither will you, of the life you don’t choose. We’ll only know that whatever that sister life was, it was important and beautiful and not ours. It was the ghost ship that didn’t carry us. There’s nothing to do but salute it from the shore.”