Even the faint thoughts of a return to the NY metro area bring me into a great cloud of speculation, into dreams of what I feel I have lost, the prices I have paid for following the enticements of What If. I have lived my life exploring the potential of following the great What If. There is a price to the allegiance I have given to this creative and destructive force. The power of the many What Ifs in my imagination have propelled me to move across the globe. When I began my devotion to this strange god, I believed I was banishing the possibility of regret. I did not think of the sadness generated in memories of what I had left behind, my regrets packed into so many heavy suitcases travelling with me from address to address.
And how can I find that light and happy life, free of backward glances?
Even my resume is a catalog of wanderlust dedicated to the priniples of What If. Will I ever be able to lay this down and just live? Shall I circle the world just to return to where I started and lament the loss of what was once?
