Wednesday, 20 March 2002 | Alternate

Today I am full of nervous energy, the kind that makes me want to find experience and want to feel alive rather than the kind that makes me productive. It's unfortunate, since the only thing in front of me demands that I sit here, unmoving, and pay attention to it; there are no other doors from which I can choose.

We are where we are because of a series of decisions that we made or that were made for us. Today I'm trying to trace those decisions backwards, like a family tree of figurative forks in the road. My immediate family is easy; it's the great-grandparents—the decisions that I made years ago—that are getting a little fuzzy.

And of course I can only guess at the parts of the tree that don't exist, the ones that stop short and veer in other directions. I can't tell if I'm romanticizing those invisible branches or if they'd really be like the dream-state movie clip I'm imagining, the fast-forwarded series of events that seem somehow profound, even though the moments I've selected are rather stripped-down and simple.

And while I'm digging around in that non-existent attic, I'm visiting the real one, watching the past I did experience, though, like in a dream, I can't tell whether I'm watching myself or seeing it through my eyes. In any case, I'm only viewing memorable samples; it's unfair of me to hold them up to the present moment in comparison. This present moment of anxiety and discontent (but mostly anxiety) will probably not be a part of future movie clips, you know, the ones I make of this point in my life, after decisions have caused me to move on.

I will probably always wonder about alternate paths, and I will wish that I had a life to give each of them.