This Could Be Your Life

That's how I felt when I went home. If I had made a few different choices, I saw what could have been my life. I could have a beautiful home, or a home at least, with matching furniture and color schemes. I would wear cute Midwest clothes and talk as passionately about the Pampered Chef Mandolyn as I do now about Czech theatre design. I would probably be a little heavier (good ole Midwest cooking) and have a little more in my checking account. I would see my cousins and aunts on a regular basis and my accent would be that much stronger.
I would also be much closer acquainted with cancer and all of its side effects. I would know about the different stages of pregnancy (via my pregnant best friend) and I would have a severe caffeine addiction due to the extra pocket money and proximity to yummy coffee shops.
I would probably be married by now. Possibly thinking of starting a family (I'm that age, you know). Or I would be the family gypsy in Madison, doing as much theatre as possible, and going out much more often to the downtown bars and Chicago revelling in my singularity.
I feel surprisingly indifferent to this alternate life. It didn't make me want to scream. It's an alternative, a back-up in case the whole PhD thing isn't what it's cracked up to be. Though I admit to being a little bit envious of the beautiful houses and seamless, effortless organization (particularly after spending the last day and a half struggling to find a place for everything in my apartment without making it look too cluttered). Am I jealous enough to want it over what I have? No. I can't say I regret the choices I made because I know if I hadn't made them, I would be restless. I was always plotting how to get away. The irony is that now that I am away I daydream about plots that will take me back. But it's not restless that propels these thoughts, but nostalgia. I have a wonderful town and family to go home to. It's my beacon.