Too Close to Home

An exploration of identity and regret

Image: Josh Denten via Unsplash

There's this space between waking and dreams where anything is possible. Your mind opens itself to all the roads not taken as you stare up at the ceiling above your bed. It’s a glimpse into everything that makes you who you are.

There's comfort in that space between. It's a place where every possibility exists at once, and nothing is certain. Like staring into a mirror of the world, you can see everything you are and everything you could have been reflected back at you.

I lose track of time in that space. I let my mind pull on those narrative threads. I think about the life I had planned. Everything I had dreamed of before it all changed.

What does it say about me that I let myself walk those paths in my mind? Does it mean I haven't let go, or is it easier to be an observer, if only for a taste of what could have been?

For ten years, I walked that path—ten years of my life I’ll never get back. And yet, it feels like that life ended. That version of me died. Who I was is not who I am now. The rebirth already happened long before the end. I built an elaborate cocoon to shield myself from the pain, but it wasn’t without a cost.

We were strangers again when something new emerged. A new me. A better me.

They say you can grow together, or you can grow apart. What if it was one, then the other?

People evolve. They change, and then one day, you look in the mirror, and you don't recognize the face staring back at you.

So who am I then? If identity is what defines us, then what am I?

A name?

A writer?

More?

Less?

I don’t know. I have to dive deeper.

You have to be careful wandering that space between. If you dive too deep, you'll start to find the ashes of regret scattered on those untraveled roads.

The world will disappear, and you'll see other versions of yourself—more successful ones that made better decisions and realized the dreams you never chased.

You'll become jealous of that other you. You'll wish you could step through that shimmering portal in the ceiling and take over.

You'd kill that other version of you if you could. Wrap your hands around their throat and choke them with all the anger and regret that flows through your veins.

After all, they haven't suffered like you have. They don't know the pain you've been through. They could never appreciate what you lost. So why didn't you? Appreciate it, I mean.

You see the paradox here, don't you?

You say you're now the person who won't take all of these things for granted, yet you didn't become that person until you lost it all.

Do you see the problem?

This is the part where I should get out of bed. I shouldn't dive any deeper. We all stand upon these shores in our minds and gaze into those depths, but we know not to dive in. We know it’s not water that makes up those waves.

This part of the ocean is deep and filled with darkness—the ever-present question of "what if?" will swallow me whole.

What if you moved somewhere else?

That house had a history. Problems stirred beneath the glossy exterior. What if we had passed on that one? Would that have changed anything? Go ahead, dive a little deeper, I dare you.

What if you had gotten that job sooner?

You wouldn't have suffered all those months barely scraping by. You would have had more energy to dedicate to the things that mattered.

Go on, keep swimming.

What if you had asked for help before it got too bad?

You could have faced your demons head-on instead of pretending they didn't exist. Maybe then, resentment's inky tendrils wouldn’t have slid into every facet of your life.

What if you never lost her? Your baby girl?

Was that unspeakable tragedy the straw that broke the camel's back? Could you have salvaged things if the fucking universe didn't take your baby from you?

What if?

What if...?

WHAT IF...?!

Here's the question you should be asking yourself:

WAS THERE EVER ANY HOPE?

Go ahead. You're already this deep. Take a peek.

What's the matter?

You're perfectly willing to let your mind wander into all manner of fantasies that have no basis in reality.

Why would this be any different?

Or wait, is it because you're scared? If you look, then you'll know for sure. Observation collapses all the possibilities into a single outcome, after all.

Schrödinger's cat beckons to thee. It is both alive and dead until you look.

Do you want to know the answer?

If you don't look, then there's still the possibility that a version of you exists somewhere, someplace, some time, where it worked out. If you give in and dive to the bottom, you'll know the answer.

But you may not like what you find.

The alarm goes off again. This is my chance to look away. To spare myself the burden of knowing.

No. No, I don’t want to look. I can’t. I don’t want to know.

Why not?

Because it wasn’t all my fault. Did I make mistakes? Yes, but I wasn’t the only one.

You were tending to a garden that was already rotting.

I cut out pieces of myself and laid them on the altar of redemption. I cut, and I bled, and I cut, and I bled some more until there was nothing left.

And did she care?

No. I could have offered my immortal soul, and it wouldn’t have changed anything.

The heart wants what the heart wants.

And it didn’t want me. So no. I don’t need the answers. Not anymore. Those paths were washed away by the winds of time long ago.

Those paths were for a version of me that no longer exists. He died, and I buried him.

And this is his eulogy.

I swim back to the surface and walk to the shore. The blood of my mistakes soaks into my clothes and drips from my skin, but I am free.

Can I tell you something?

Sure. Go right ahead.

Your identity is your own.

Your soul is your own.

Your choices are your own.

You are the sum of your actions.

Learn to live with it, or die with the regret.

It’s your choice, kid.

Amen. May the old me rest in peace.

The alarm goes off again. I don’t hit the snooze button this time.

It's time for me to get up.

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