Life on Mars

When I picked the topic of time travel, it was fresh on my mind.  I had just watched the last episode of a great show, "Life on Mars."  A show about a man, 40-ish in 2009, who's forced to live in the year 1973.  This man hated it in 1973-- especially when he was faced with his toddler self and was given the opportunity to talk to himself about his father abandoning the family.  To serve sort of as a mentor.  He didn't want to at first, because he didn't want his toddler self to know what a dark and cynical man he'd become.

This man tried desperately, for the two years the show ran, to get out of 1973.

I think if any of us were forced back in time, to a period of our lives, knowing what we know now, it'd be as strange and as scary as being planted on the planet Mars.  And I wonder-- how tough would it be to resist the urge to warn ourselves, or advise ourselves on decisions unmade.

There's a perfect movie moment in "My Best Friend's Wedding," where the two friends are talking on a boat deck, about how once a moment passes... it's gone.  And as they say this, a cool shadow from a bridge above passes over them.  Suddenly it's sunny again, and indeed the moment has passed.  An opportunity gone.

At least in part, the tantalizing fantasy of time travel is defined by the possibility of going back to a moment of regret.  I try not to torture myself with this too often, though I admit that for a good portion of my life, I've been obsessed with regret.  I have a fear of regret so great that I fear I'll regret not packing every possible first aid item into my giant purse.  And then my purse is so heavy, that I usually regret packing it so.

I worry I'll regret everything from not buying that splurgy sunless bronzer, to not going outside on a perfect, sunny day.  What if I hadn't gone to Key West on spring break?  Would I have regretted not doing that sort of thing, looking back on my college life?  Would I regret not ordering something more daring from the menu?  Would I regret not riding the roller coasters in Disneyworld?  Would I regret not studying abroad in Florence?  

While thinking of all these things leaves me on the verge of a headache-- I think my greatest fear, is that I could potentially regret not fulfilling the expectations I had for myself as a child.  I wanted to be a  dozen different things- detective, hot-air balloon operator, lawyer, explorer, entrepreneur... And I wanted to take the world with me on all my adventures.  I wanted people to look forward to these adventures the way I looked forward to reading "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe," and watching "Flight of the Navigator."  I don't think hovering in obscurity, or even normalacy-- known only to my family, friends and teachers was something I ever dreamt for myself.  In fact, I wanted to be great.

As an adult, the book, "Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood," only fueled my fears and obsessions. This one hit me hard.  Two generations of women-- the daughter became a famous writer.  The mother was once young, vibrant, full of dreams and energy and charm- shouting her lofty aspirations from the back of her friend's speeding, red convertible, that she was going to be a star.  That same woman grew old, lamenting-- she "could have done something," "could have been something great."  Could have...  

I can't.

I can't, I refuse to give myself cause to look back on my life that way.  I'm going to keep plugging forward at full speed until I don't know what.  I don't know when I'll stop.  But I just can't, won't, shudder to think I might one day be an old and tired woman wishing for a time machine to take her back to Mars.