What If

Disclaimer: This is just an essay and does not necessarily reflect real events, experiences, or circumstances.

I was sitting in a room, listening to the ticking clock as I looked at my phone. Time seemed to pass faster with each swipe, and I felt more guilty as I continued to scroll.

It was a wasted evening. It made me wonder whether wasted evenings could become a wasted life. I thought about how life goes by every day, and the precious time I had lost that could not be recovered.

By the time I realized it was already midnight, I had started thinking about what might have happened if I had done something different: taken a different turn or gone to a different club meeting at school. As I imagined a future that never existed, it felt more painful. I sank deeper into my thoughts, searching for a possible reality that could have been better.

The dreams that faded

Instead of taking all the hard courses because my parents told me to, maybe I should have pursued my childhood dream of becoming a scientist.

I used to lie awake thinking about space and the mysteries of the universe. I would stare at the stars, trying to memorize their names, and ask my mom to buy me a telescope so I could feed that hungry curiosity. I felt the same way about the ocean and its unknown creatures, wanting to reveal its hidden details.

Or maybe I could have become an Olympian, practicing sports every day because I loved it. Before there was competition, there was the pure joy of imagining the stadium and wanting to be the best.

Along with all the other possibilities in my mind, these memories made me think about the dreams that had faded over time. There was a time when life felt limitless, when dreams were not distant memories but possibilities. I imagined myself accomplishing the things I once believed in and loved.

As I got older, reality made me feel alienated from those dreams. Responsibilities and expectations took over. I started following what others told me to do, forgetting my own dreams and believing in theirs instead.

But I realized we often compare the imperfections of our lives, like cracks in a mirror, to the perfect lives we imagine. Those imagined lives are polished to hide the cracks. Nothing has a chance to go wrong in them.

Regret can lead us to believe we know what would have happened, even when all we have is our imagination.

Different does not mean better

As I sat there questioning my past decisions, I remembered a book I had gotten for my English class: Fluke: Chance, Chaos, and Why Everything We Do Matters by Brian Klaas.

I flipped through the pages, each one slipping between my fingers as I searched for a way out. Klaas discusses the small decisions we make and how they can have consequences beyond our comprehension, even affecting lives far into the future.

He describes Henry Stimson’s 1926 visit to Kyoto and the connection he felt to the city. Years later, Stimson pushed to spare Kyoto from being an atomic-bomb target.

This made me think that if I had built my life around my childhood dreams, perhaps it would have been shaped differently. But who could guarantee it would have been better?

I realized I was not mourning a life I had lived, but a life I believed would have existed. The sound of flipping pages drowned out the ticking clock that had seemed so loud only minutes before.

What now?

These thoughts made me question my life and my sense of purpose. How could I regain control? How could I answer those what-ifs?

Eventually, the question became: what now?

I put down my phone and decided to set aside thirty minutes every day to code a fun project. It kept me feeling alive while still allowing me to complete my other responsibilities.

Every big dream starts with a small step. Maybe this could become something bigger one day. At least I can change my future, if not my past.