Describe your life in an alternate universe.

Today’s prompt feels like an exercise in “what could’ve been”.

Which I don’t like.

Every hardship, every trial and tribulation, every difficult situation or period of time I’ve endured made me who I am today. Each “missed” opportunity or fork in the road that could’ve led me down a different path would’ve altered something, and I can’t imagine a life where I would’ve missed out on someone.

Everything in life happens for a reason. Everything is intentional. I live my life without regrets.

So, in true Cari fashion, let’s put a dark and morbid spin on a few “what ifs?”:

• What if, instead of falling in love with aircraft maintenance, I followed my dream and became a Marine Biologist? I would’ve moved to the coast, my skin bronzed year round, with sand and salt as my two main staples. I would’ve dove headfirst into Ichthyology, as sharks are one of the most bad ass creatures ever to exist. My career would have kept me underwater, in a literal cage. I would’ve snubbed my nose at any advances from the crusty boat captain, because “ew”. One day, in silent retribution, the scorned boat captain “forgets” to ensure the shark cage latch is secure and drops me to my inevitable death. Great white sharks tear open the cage, and despite my attempts to flee to safety, I am ripped from limb to limb.
• OR…. what if I did follow my aircraft maintenance career, but instead of a “Weekend Warrior”, I went active duty and was selected as a crew chief for the premier demonstration team, The Thunderbirds. My life would’ve been spent traveling from air show to air show, my every move rigid and synchronized. I would’ve spent the majority of time with the pompous Thunderbird pilot asshats, and would’ve morphed into a pompous Thunderbird crew chief asshat. One night, after a ridiculous amount of adult beverages at a hangar party, and being referred to as a “Thunderturd” one too many times, I would’ve thrown a punch. The fight would’ve ended quickly, because even though I am a pompous asshat, I know how to fight. The individual who’s on the receiving end, however, ends up finishing the fight. I am run down in the parking lot, my body left bloody and mangled, a piece of my Thunderbird uniform stuck in the grill of the jacked up Ford truck as it leaves the scene.
• OR… I ended up with that guy. You know the one, the narcissistic, controlling, jealous one? The one that crushes your soul with constant criticism. Your body, your weight, the way you drink water, the way you wash your face, nothing is off limits. He would’ve pushed me down, kept me second guessing my worth. I would work meaningless jobs, because, what’s the point? I would’ve lost my will to live. Until… one day, a stranger’s smile or a kind gesture awakens a yearning to be more. Years of pent up anger, hurt, and rage bubble to the surface and manifest into revenge. Slipping the rat poison into his meals would’ve been the easy part. Standing trial and eventually being convicted of murder would’ve been difficult. I would’ve formed a bond with women who had been put in similar situations while in jail. Unfortunately, a scuffle over the last green Jell-O cup would’ve earned me a shank in the right kidney while in the shower room, the jailers finding my lifeless body two minutes too late.
• OR… what if I happened to have picked all five winning numbers and the PowerBall on the latest lottery? I would’ve told, in strictest confidence, only my Dad and immediate family. In true Dad fashion, he would’ve whispered my secret to my uncle, his best friend, his ex wife, his doctor, the lady behind the counter at Casey’s, and the Amazon driver. Long lost relatives, non-profit charities, and requests for help would start pouring in. Unable to up and disappear, I would’ve opted to build a moat around our five acre property, with one drawbridge in and out, and a turret-based, heat-seeking, 50 caliber rifle as a deterrent system. I have the funds, so construction would’ve moved swiftly. In order to prevent a potential breach, I would’ve stocked the moat with piranhas and alligators. Vicious ones. One day, I would’ve forgotten to disarm the 50-cal and been shredded to pieces while out feeding the piranhas and alligators, my bloody chunks of flesh gobbled up by those intended to protect me.

Na. I think I’m pretty content with the way my life has turned out. No need to fantasize on an Alternate Cari Universe.