What if and If only

I’m moving again. I sit in my ivory tower living room contemplating the last year. A year ago I spoke at my graduation ceremony. A year ago I climbed the Y by myself and stared at Provo from under my mortarboard hat. I had spent the summer living basically alone, surrounded by strangers. I managed to bring a few friends to live with me and we wrought a life from the leather couches of the adorable yellow house. We made the effort to reach out and build friendships. We made our house a home to anyone that needed it. We hosted dinners and ward prayers, Christmas parties and haunted houses, filming sessions and bachelor parties. The driveway served as the sending grounds for dozens of trips long and short. We held meetings, planning sessions, birthday parties, choir practices, and gospel study groups.

Now it’s time to go. Leave behind the claw footed chairs and windows full of houseplants; the large TV that taught me the wonders of Zelda; the old crank style table that hosted my recipes while I cooked. Another year, another life.

Moving brings two phrases to mind: What if and if only. Both of these deal with alternate realities to the one I ended up with. I would divide them into past tense and future tense. The first deals with the past and regrets and looks backwards. What if I had kept the kitchen cleaner? If only I had hosted more scripture groups. What if I had hosted more dates and fewer parties? If only I had studied more diligently. What if I had spent more time one on one instead of in large groups? When first I sat in the silence of a Sunday night basking in this living room I was filled with possibilities. I recognized the rarity of the experience and wanted to make the most of the brief time I had to spend in this place. Looking back I can still see the thousand dreams that didn’t come fulfilled.

The future tense can be just as cruel. What if I move further south? If only I could find a bigger room. What if I call up that girl and invite her over? What about her roommate? What if I commute? What if I switch wards? Stakes? If only I could live closer to campus. It glances at the mysterious future and ponders the possibilities yet to come. In five days I’ll be homeless. I have not yet chosen which of those possibilities to allow a place in reality. Time is not kind to them. They shimmer in and out of likelihood as opportunities come and go. They are hard to grasp. God decided to make us free agents, allowing us the ability to choose a phantom future to seek after. I feel the pressure of that ability keenly.

At these times of moving the ghosts of the if onlys sneak up and messes up my vision of the futuristic what ifs. It’s hard to focus on the future when confused by the shimmering regrets of the past. I’m searching for clarity.

What I found came as I watched the resident squirrel and ducks clamber around the BYU gardens. I noticed a rock slide down the hill and found the cause to be a turtle that had left the turtle pond. The turtle was slowly climbing the steep hill. It would freeze each time someone walked down the stairs nearby. The steep slope meant it had to dig in with its claws to avoid sliding down. It took a while but the turtle soon reached the canal walk at the top of the hill. From the safety of a bush it looked both ways then bolted across the brick path to the stream on the other side. I watched the startled ducks make room for the new inhabitant of the stream as the turtle did a graceless belly flop into the water.

I watched the turtle a while longer as it found a nice spot in the lee of a rock where the flowing water couldn’t push it any more. Why was it here? The lower turtle pond had company, plenty of basking rocks, safety in mud and murky water, and tons of people throwing food into it. Why leave all that behind for the flowing barren artificial stream up above? Why risk the long dangerous climb up the muddy slope? Why leave the other turtles for a place with less food that required more effort to live in? Was it a pariah among the other turtles? Was it injured? Or was it too crowded in the lower pond? Or, what if the turtle was haunted by if onlys. What if the vague possible future of the water up above were tempting enough for it to take the risk and leave the familiar? How many fountains will that turtle travel to before it decides that the turtle pond is the best place for a turtle? How many times will I have to move before I decide I have what I really want? When do you give up on if only? You will never be able to test out each possibility. But you must try more than one. What if you choose wrong?

Now, to be fair, I’m not moving because I want to. I’m moving for various practical, financial, and temporal reasons. I have to leave. But I am living in a constant state of staring at a future swaying in front of me with a thousand possible resolutions and knowing that I have to pick one to follow. Moving just makes the awareness of those possibilities stand out as stark as a red brick house compared to a yellow slatted house. So I say goodbye to the if onlys of yesterday and focus on the what ifs of tomorrow. I wonder what fountain or stream I shall end up in next?