What If? The Proverbial Question That Can Drive Us All, Just A Little Crazy.

I sat down at my desk and let my guitar rest in between my knees. I stared at my old strings lying on the floor. Over the course of their lifetime, which at this point was at least 6 months, they endured countless hours of usage that often times wandered without direction through the ranks of passionate and violent. They were worn thin and their once polished brass shine had long since vanished. They were now just a tangled heap of weathered steel threads lying at my feet. Just as I’ve done a 100 times before, I picked up the old guitar strings and began to tie them together individually to create a wire loop. I stared at my guitar. I hadn’t yet put on the new strings and it looked sad and naked.

I walked over and hung the newly wound relic on top of my doorframe. There were at least two other sets resting on that same corner. Being in the presence of these tightly coiled ornaments instantly brought back a series of memories; ones in which I had both desperately and unsuccessfully tried to forget. The memory started as a single image. It was the simplest of gifts; a recycled guitar string loop that I had put together late one night while I was in college. It was a gift that took no thought at all, just the thought itself. I had given the filament creation to someone, who unbeknownst to me at the time, would be the person who would irrevocably change my perception of what it meant to be in-love. I started to feel uneasy. I tried to tell myself not to let my thoughts go down that particular road. It was always fruitless and disappointing. It was no use. Any attempt to try and escape was futile and pointless.

Throughout my life I have been anything but a simple case when it comes to dealing with the opposite sex. Difficult? Problematic? Challenging? Frustrating? Stubborn? I suppose all are true, especially depending on who you ask. You can throw all the mutual clichés in there if you want. I can be hot. I can be cold. I can be satisfied. I can be unfulfilled. I am always right. I am never wrong. I say things when I shouldn’t. I am silent when I should speak. I can be charming. I can be unpleasant. I am honest. I am dishonest. I am your best friend. I am your mortal enemy. In other words…I’m complicated.

Over the years, these social impediments have pushed women away (not that I blame them). Most of them don’t weather the storm long enough to peel back the first layer of the onion. The few who do, eventually get tired and fed up with the relentless brigade of irritating obstacles and move on. Even fewer still are the ones who discover that despite my outgoing personality, I am an extremely introverted person. This is the absolute breaking point for anyone who has made it this far. It is now time to abandon this sinking ship before it’s too late. How can they ever possibly even consider long-term happiness with a person who finds comfort in withdrawing from everyone in times of sorrow and grief? Especially with someone who constantly advises others to share their thoughts and feelings; yet becomes isolated and reclusive anytime sadness rolls his way. What a hypocrite!

But for whatever reason she didn’t jump ship (well, not right away at least). She stuck around. As hard as I tried to push her away, she drove her resistance right back to me; sometimes with equal or greater force (which still amazes and irritates me to this day). I used to say she was crazy. Maybe she was; why else would she have put up with all of my imprudent and foolish behavior for so long. And so it was here in my bedroom, staring at a couple of used up guitar strings; that I began to consider the reputed question: What if? What if I had done things differently with her?

Playing the “What If Game” is an act of absolute criticism of the worst kind on one’s own psyche that borders on lunacy and emotional-mutilation. It’s never fun to play and you almost never feel better afterwards. It can also be a never-ending game in which if you let it consume you; can steal away any confidence or resolve you had to begin with. So why do we play it? Everyone has at one time or another given it another shot. Hop in Doc Brown’s time machine and pretend to go back in time and do things differently. How would it have turned out? Did I make the right decision? What if I did this, instead of that? It’s enough to drive anyone to their breaking point. Case in point:

What if I had stayed that morning? What if I didn’t drive off and leave her standing on the stairwell in a towel crying? What if I had jumped out of my car, ran up the stairs, and kissed her? Told her that we would work things out. What if I had given her a quarter of my attention? Christ, I probably could have given her an eighth of my attention and she might have stuck around. What if I had listened to her more? What if I didn’t tune her out when she was trying to communicate that she was unhappy with the way things were going? What if I didn’t stay out all night and sometimes not come home? What if I put her first just half of the time? What if I told her I loved her more often? What if I had confided in her more? What if I had known what the next few months would hold for the two of us? Could I have saved things? Could I have changed her feelings towards me? Could I have avoided the painful arguments that ensued? What if I had known that after we split we would no longer keep in touch and I would lose my best friend? What if I had known that I would not speak or see her in three-years? What if I had known I would have an emptiness in my chest that no matter how hard I tried, I could not fill?

Insanity. Craziness. Madness. Stupidity. Care to add any more to the list?

All words to describe such a pathetic waste of time. There is no going back. It is foolish and painful even to fantasize about changing the course of one’s own personal history, especially if it is something that didn’t turn out the way one had hoped. It’s an impossibility, yet it is also a part of human nature. We do it so often. Some people are worse than others and second guess their whole lives (which is deplorable); while some replay only life-changing events such as an accidental death or family tragedy. And every time we choose to play the “what if game” we burden ourselves with the infinite number of possible outcomes based on small, often times trivial, changes to what actually took place.

Closing those chapters and moving on is hard. But life moves in only one direction and that’s forward. Even I have a chapter in my life that I have not been able to close all the way. Maybe I’m waiting for our paths to cross again; in the hopes to come full circle. I looked back up at the steel rings and ran my finger the length of the wire and pressed down on the knot that held it all together. What if…