I want people to dance when I die.

I decided last night that I want my funeral to be like they are here.

Here, instead of a somber, remorseful event of what the person could have been, it is a reflective celebration of what the person has done. You dance. You drink. You eat pounded yams.

When I die, I want people to know that I laughed at every chance I got, I went wherever I could go and I loved more than I thought was possible. I tried to live life as much as I could. And for that, I would regret nothing.

At my funeral, I want people to celebrate what I was able to do instead of what I didn’t.

If I wasn’t here, I would probably be thinking about what my life would be like if I was here

I recently told my roommates from college that sometimes I think there is an alternate universe where I’m still working at my old job, I still live with the same people and I still wake up on Sunday afternoons, get into my car and buy Hy-Vee Chinese food.

There’s a relatively bad Gwyneth Paltrow with exactly this premise. I don’t remember exactly what causes it (I think it involves missing a subway train), but part way through the movie, the plot line for Paltrow’s character diverges and the viewer follows both.

Watching this movie did not spark this train of thought but in times like this, after I have made what will be a significant decision in my life, I always think about the what I would be doing or who I would be if I had chosen another option. I think about the different versions of me that could have existed, but now, exist nowhere.

I guess what I’m getting at is yes, my life could have gone differently. I could be sitting in an air-conditioned room streaming Netflix, but that version of me doesn’t get to exist yet. It’s not so much that I chose one version  of myself over another, but that I haven’t chosen to be that person yet.

Later, the option may present itself, or it may not. But there will also be other versions of myself that I haven’t met yet.