Imagining Life in an Alternate Universe

I often wonder what my life would look like if everything had gone differently.  I might think about it too much to be quite honest.  My mind is filled with all of the what ifs.  What if I made that one choice I was too scared to make? Or what if I followed a path I talked myself out of because it felt too risky? 

In an alternate universe, I imagine myself living somewhere quieter.  Perhaps a small coastal town.  I feel most at peace when I’m at the beach.  So, I’d live in a small house with an ocean front view to bask in every morning.  I’d wake up to the smell of sea salt, with a cup of coffee in hand, and listen to the majestic sound of the waves crash on shore.  My days would move slowly, but that’s the kind of life I imagine for myself. 

My life would move slower.  And honestly, that feels just right.

In this alternate life, I run a quiet little café-bookshop by the sea.  The kind of place that feels like a secret and a sanctuary.  The building is painted a midnight blue, with white trim.  And inside, the air smells like espresso, sweet pastries, and something gently spiced, like cinnamon.  

The floors are dark wood, that slightly creak when you walk on it.  There are cozy reading nooks tucked into the corners with black velvet seats, and reading lamps at every table.  On the wall, there’s a mural of Velaris—a not to my favorite book series, ACOTAR.  Fantasy novels line the bookshelves, and the entire cafe feels like a space for escape. 

There’s some soft jazz playing in the background.   Mismatched mugs.  A community journal on each table, where people could leave poems, doodles, thoughts, or anonymous confessions.  It’s not just a café.  It’s a home for the soul. 

Mornings are for baking.  Lavender shortbread. Warm scones. Cardamom apple cake. Roasted tomato hand pies.  Lemon poppyseed muffins, of course—because there’s no better companion for a book than a warm pastry and a cup of something cozy.

The menu changes with the seasons but stays simple and comforting.  There’s always a “Soul Plate.”  A dish that nourishes both body and heart, inspired by emotion for than any recipe.  It might be a classic grilled cheese sandwich one day, or a big bowl of soup with freshly backed sourdough bread the next.  And people don’t come here in a rush.  They’re invited to slow down and just be.  

Even in this alternate universe, I’m still a writer.  That never changes.  But maybe I’d be bolder. More confident. Less plagued by doubt. In this life, I second-guess every word. I wonder if I’m too much, or somehow not enough.  There, I write freely—without all the intrusive thoughts.
I trust my voice.  I trust that it matters.

In this version of life, I’m still me. But softer.  I spend time with people who make me feel safe.  People who don’t need me to be louder, shinier, more “on.”  There’s less noise, less pressure, less pretending. 

Lately, I’m realizing that maybe this imagined world isn’t so different from the one I’m creating now.  The alternate universe? It might just be a mirror.  A version of me showing who I can still become.  A life I’m slowly learning how to carve out, even here.

And I’m holding on to hope for that one.

“Maybe the life you imagine is just the softer truth waiting for your permission.”

Unknown