When I've had a disappointing day, I find myself pondering the concept of parallel universes. I think about all the theoretic versions of Amy that might exist and imagine all of them being much better at living my own life than I am. They are all masters of their domain, creators of their reality, bold, interesting, assertive, mysterious, strong, creative and successful women, and they are all living out my hopes and dreams in ways I never thought possible.
There's an Amy somewhere out there who pursued her passion for quantum physics, graduated from MIT and spends her days expanding on the works of Max Planck, Einstein and other great minds. She lectures on the subject of string theory, black holes, relativity and the concept of time, doing it all brilliantly while wearing a sharp, black blazer and a crisp white shit.
There is an Amy with better hair, softer skin and a lilting voice, who captivates any room she saunters into with her beaming smile. She does't just walk, she glides, with a kind of sensual confidence that's spellbinding. She's an author, speaker, animal rights advocate and fashion designer.
There's an Amy that makes better decisions, takes better lovers, wears better shoes and gets more sleep at night. She is a morning person and has perfected the art of mindful meditation and the downward facing dog pose. She is always on time, never procrastinates, has never lost a cluster of keys or a wallet or anything else that belongs to her. This Amy hasn't dropped her phone too many times to count, and replaced the screen enough times to be on the first name bases with the guy at the repair shop.
There's an Amy that poaches the perfect egg, bakes scrumptious pie crusts and has a contagious laugh that men and women alike all find adorable. She lives in a Downtown loft with thick walls, soundproof double pain windows, endless natural light and plenty of open space for cocktail parties. Her last party was Gatsby themed and the signature drinks served were The Daisy and The Myrtle.
There's an Amy in whose home you will find a vintage, 1920s record player with a collection of old Billie Holiday albums, a corner office, the original ‘Alone Together’ painting by Maria Kreyn, and her great-grandmother’s floral English tea set. She is a composite sketch artist, her parents are alive and still in love, and she has brunch with her mother every Sunday.
There's an Amy whose beside table contains an exquisite designer hand lotion, one self-help or business book, and one classic work of literary genius at all times, all of which she actually reads. Her short films about inanimate objects have received notoriety among the independent film circuit and have millions of views on YouTube. She lets her unruly, big hair grow long and be wild and free, embracing the curls with reckless abandon. She's a poet, a great poet actually, and she speaks fluent French and Russian and is currently trying to master Italian.
I often joke that if I was just dropped into an alternate universe myself, just as I am now, I would somehow do things better there because I would not be bound by the rules of that place, since I would not be of that place. I would somehow feel like I'd have no time to waste, like everything was so easy to just get up and do, no holds barred, no questions asked. It's around this time that I realize, that the only things that I am bound by, are my own rules, and the only thing that restricts this Amy, is this Amy.