The other day I published a long collective list of "What if?" questions on Lost Paper: http://lostpaper.blogspot.com/
A few people had lists to send me, but they arrived after the deadline. Of course, I can't resist including these questions here & now.
Thank you to:
Ann Wexler
Barbara Cartwright
Barbara Kane Lewis
Linda Pope
Maryam Steele
Robert Sullivan
What if people had wings?
What if day was night and night was day?
What if spiders could talk loud enough so I could hear them?
What if I really learned to love housecleaning?
What if it stopped raining for a whole week?
What if the sky was never blue, but always orange or grey?
What if the birds lost their song?
What if every time you heard thunder, you were granted a magical wish?
What if she hadn't smiled?
What if he'd never told me?
What if it had really been a magic carpet?
What if there had been no sun that day?
What if you hadn't said you loved me?
What if the train hadn't been late?
What if I had been born on Jupiter?
What if you hadn't been born on Mars?
What if I never saw your smile?
What if glass didn't shatter?
What if that's all there is?
What if the moon turned into gorgonzola on hot summer days?
What if we could grow a garden in Ithaca all year long?
What if our neighbors didn't mow their lawns at 7:30 on Saturday mornings?
What if hate was removed from our vocabulary?
What if guacamole-and-chips was added to the food pyramid?
What if I could make you love me?
What if I climbed to the top of Taughannock and saw the universe as I slowly spun around?
What if I read every single book in my house?
What if madras didn't bleed, would I still have my favorite blouse to wear and to cheer me up?
What if I could start all over again?
What if Superman was not deathly allergic to Kryptonite?
What if you loved me more than I love you for a change.
What if things were the way they used to be when I was younger — no cell phones, no computers, no answering machines — and only that amazing new invention, the electric typewriter, to be excited about.
What if I my mother hadn't been on that beach in Coney Island in 1933 where my father was picking up girls and showing off his muscles — no me.
What if I fed this little flame inside me until it grew big as a sky-high bonfire in my soul?
What if I stopped being shy?
What if I never gave in to stress ever again?
What if I started calling myself by a Super Hero name?
What if a sink full of dishes made me giggle with delight?
What if the sun and rain could feed me like a wildflower?
What if I'd made a whole other set of mistakes in my life — who would I be right now?
What if I'd never listened to bad advice?
What if I'd never fallen in love?
What if I'd gotten a good job after college, instead of chopping veggies in a vegan kitchen?
What if riding a bike didn't scare me so much — where would I have traveled?
What if I jump under the next waterfall I meet — will there be a secret passage through the stones?
What if I wasn't born a redhead?
What if I had learned to control my temper at five years old — would I be a saint right now?
What if I always let passion show me the way?
What if I never ignored the spirit animals that try to guide me?
What if I never let fear steer my ship?
What if I wasn't a writer (I hate to even ask it)?
What if unicorns and Bigfoot are real?
What if I never get out West again?
What if everything I hope for actually happens, and everything I fear never does?
