If the best of all possible worlds were reality, I wouldn’t have to shave.  My nails would be long and manicured.  Polish wouldn’t chip. 

If the best of all possible worlds were reality, I would be a mother of healthy children, a wife, and a writer.  I would live in a new house, with steam showers, full tubs, and dimmer light switches.  I’d have land, a pool, a hot tub.  I’d have a lovely SUV, and no one would ever suggest a minivan.  I would be connected in a deep meaningful way to my husband, and we would keep our marriage a priority and a goal throughout our lives together.  We would have trust, respect, and friendship.

If the best of all possible worlds were reality, I could eat anything and as much of any foods and I would still be thin, look muscular, defined, and have my health.  I would never have to exercise to keep fit and healthy.

If the best of all possible worlds were reality, I would have close friends, as I do now, who I could grow old with, and live close to, counting on one another to be our memories.

If the best of all possible worlds were reality, there would be no traffic, no slow people, no fear, no dead ends, no deadlines, no office politics or stress.   There would be no disagreements or disappointments.  Life would be fair.  Karma would work.

If the best of all possible worlds were reality, people I admired would adore me.  I’d feel content and happy with my place in life–I would believe in and follow my purpose in life.  I wouldn’t have questions.  I’d have an inner therapist that would come out like a little angel who whispers to an ear in the cartoons.  There would be no cartoon devil.  The inner therapist would point things out to me, and make me aware.  I would not act out of fear.  I would be strong.   I would not be needy.  I would love myself–be proud, and I’d have no insecurity.

If the best of all possible worlds were reality, my windows would keep out the cold air, and even on nights like these, I could sleep in silky nightgowns instead of socks, sweatpants, and a Duke sweatshirt from my past.

If the best of all possible worlds were reality, I could plan menus, write selective restaurant reviews and preview all movies I wanted to see before they were released to theatres.

If the best of all possible worlds were reality, Linus would always be tired when I was.

If the best of all possible worlds were reality, I could have many rooms, beautifully decorated with charming, thoughful touches.  Fresh flowers by the bed, lavender sachets in drawers, high thread count sheets, light switches by the headboard of a bed.  Something akin to seat-heaters in a car, but for the house.  I’d have company that I loved come to visit, and we’d sit indian-style by the fireplace, and drink sauvignon blanc from new zealand, and we’d laugh, and cling, and make savory memories.  Aftertaste.  There would be no dishes or cleaning to be done.  I’d have a "royal packer" to pack and unpack my bags for travel.

If the best of all possible worlds were reality, my space would be warm, comfortable, organized and clean.  Bright, but dark where it needed it, like in my bedroom on the weekends only, and in the movie theatre I’d have in my home.  If I were in Manhattan, as I am now, I would own stairs.  I’d have built in bookshelves with a sliding ladder.  I’d have enormous (well-insulated) windows with views.  I’d have too many walk-in closets that even had space for a chaise.

If the best of all possible worlds were reality,  I’d have a husband who was intellectually stimulating, who supported me, who made me laugh until I cried, who would cherish me, who I would deeply cherish back.

If the best of all possible worlds were reality, people wouldn’t lie or cheat.

If the best of all possible worlds were reality, I would never have to say good-bye to the people or places or things that I loved.  They would always be there, where I left them, like artifacts.