The Luxury of a Time Machine

Sometimes I wonder how it all would have turned out. And then I realize that I spend more time wondering what things I could change in the past to rewrite my present than I spend thinking about what things I can change in my present to make good in my future. I'm not sure where I picked that up. The nonsense notion of "if only." I know with absolute certainty that if I were to be given everything I say I want more than anything in the world, I would find other things to want. That's why I keep shopping. Dreams get threadbare just like trousers do. Wishes grow weary. Nothing remains your favorite for all of time.

When I look back on the years that lie in my wake, I see the things I once wanted and I know them for the frauds they were. What ever made me want them in the first place? Maybe it's that I don't live in the presence of what I have but rather in the considered absence of what I don't. I look at my collections and I take note of what's missing. I look at everything as an act that will contribute to my completion if I can only manage to do it right. But, like puzzles and playthings and turns at the game, once completion is reached, there's nothing left to do but tear it all down and start over. Perhaps I should have spent all this time fearing completion rather than pining for it. I don't want anyone to put the finishing touches on me just yet. I'm not ready.

I still indulge myself in thoughts of going back. It's just a way to pass the time. My memory is accurate but forgiving. And it never fails to include what I was wearing.