The museum of My Almost Lives

If such a place existed then I think I would be afraid to enter it.

A museum unlike any other...not filled with ancient artifacts it famous paiting but with the lives I almost lived. Behind every door would be a different version of me. Bron from every single decision I made differently. Every year I ever said. Every no I wish I said. Every road I walked past without looking back.

The first room would be filled with books. In that life I had chosen to become a writer much earlier. Shelves carried novels with my name on it and the reader waiting outside bookstores for signature. I smiles as I watched that version of myself. Then I noticed the empty dining table in the corner. Awards that coverd the walls big birthday had been missed and friendship had quietly faded and the success has demanded a price I ener noticed from outside.

The next room overlooked a city skyline. That would have been the life where I accepted the oppertunity to move away. Better career. Better salary. Better everything. It so I imagined. The apartment was beautiful. The office was breathtaking. The view was impressive. And yet that evening that version of me stood by the window eating dinner alone replaying family memories through a lifeless glowing phone screen. They city has given me everything except the people who I had to celebrate it with.

Another door revealed a quieter story. A park bench. Rain. Someone sitting beside me. In this life I had gathered enough courage to confess my feelings instead of keeping them hidden. We laughed together and build a home together and grewnold together n my heart ached with the happiness until I noticed the hospital room waiting for me at the end of the hallway. Love has found me in that life hit grief had found me too. Even the happiest stories couldn't escape good bye.

Then came the room I almost could bear to enter. It belonged to the version of me who never took risks. No failures. No embarassing rejection. Everything was safe. Predictable. And comfortable. The house was near and the routine changes and the life unfolded exactly as expected. But the eyes staying back at me looked empty. Not because that life was difficult but because nothing extraordinary happened. Safety has protected me from pain but It has also protected me from wonder.

As I walked towards the exit I expected to feel regret. Instead I felt releif. Every room has something I envied and something I was grateful that I avoided that possibility.

Not one was perfect. May be purpose of the museum was not to make to regret my choices but may be to free me from those.