So, the other day, I mentioned that in a parallel universe, I was heading out to the Projectizing Rally that’s being hosted by Havi Brooks this week.
It occurs to me that this may have been slightly confusing on my part, and may very naturally have given the impression that I was going to the Rally in this universe.
Alas, no. Oh, I do wish I were! I wanted to, but didn’t feel as if I could/should. Hence, the parallel universe — aka fantasy.
I’ve been telling myself comforting little stories of this kind for years, really. There’s the parallel universe in which I live the life of a nomad, traveling around the country in my RV. There’s the parallel universe in which I didn’t become a music therapist, but chose to make a career of one of my other passions — writing, acting. (Oh, but maybe the me in those universes dreams of practicing music therapy, and tries to find ways to satisfy that longing?)
Then there’s the dream that may yet come to pass in this universe; I just don’t know yet: an elderly me, living alone in a cottage by the sea. Welcoming guests on a regular basis, but living on my own, with absolute clarity and freedom of choice in how I make my home and live my life.
And as I think about all of these alternate realities, a possibly very important question comes to mind: Why haven’t they happened in this universe?
Maybe some of the reasons are excellent reasons. Perhaps, though, some of the reasons have to do with fears and self-imposed limitations.
The next time I catch myself in a parallel universe reverie, perhaps I will ask myself: what can I take from this, and claim as my own, give to myself, in this reality?