Time to Think

Would that I ran my own life.

I'm here to discuss last week's post about time travel that drew comments on this week's Q&A.  The proposal was something of a dodge, as all time-related fantasies are, in that it wasn't really about going back to 1973 and saying what we might do.  The pertinent question to be asked is, if it could be done in 1973, then why not do it now?  If there is a D&D version that one might want to run, it can more easily be designed and planned out in the present, with 50 years of history and social awareness, than one might do 50 years ago.

Time travel offers a unique twist on the human being's innate desire for control.  It isn't that the time period would be interesting to live in, but that any of us would have a terrific advantage over everyone else, in that we would know what's going to happen while they couldn't.  We could feel completely at ease about the oil crisis of 1973, or have certain knowledge that Nixon was going to fall, or be well ahead of the game regarding the liberation of women — knowing, as we would, that the inevitable collapse of the ERA wouldn't amount to a hill of beans where women were concerned.  We'd know where to invest, what careers to try if we wanted to surf the wave of the future, who to find and fund at the start of their career and where not to be on certain dates.

Of course, Hollywood imposes an argument of responsibility towards the future that constrains the traveller — that one's wrong actions in the past will change the future irrevocably, to the detriment of perhaps thousands or millions of people.  This isn't a constraint that we impose upon ourselves in the present, however.  I don't worry about going to the liquor store today because it might end in some awful catastrophe that might be avoided if I sit here and instead write a blog post.  This is a constraint that only matters if we know the future ... and if, imaginably, we intend to return to the same future, and we'd like it to be unchanged when we get there.

But I argued that the reader would be returned to 1973 to stay there.  No returning.  Which would mean the abandonment of most everything that today we hold dear.  Let's take two alternatives.  This is a fantasy blog, so let's dig into this awhile.

The first is that I return as I am right now, preferably as a somewhat younger man, say in my late 20s.  This supposes that the 9-y.o. me is somewhere out there, but I have no reason to think our meeting one another would create some ridiculous fictional crisis that irrationally breaks time.  I could find him, try to sell him on a few smarter choices ... but frankly I think he'd be too young, and still too much under the thumb of his parents.  I'd make better headway with my father, maybe, who read enough sci-fi to potentially grasp that his son has arrived from the future for a talk.  Honestly, I think I'd have to browbeat my father for about six months before getting any headway; and maybe it's my near-60-y.o. self talking, but I haven't the energy for that.

The chief consideration is that I'd be utterly alone in the world.  I'd have no family, even though I'd know where they were.  I could hardly search out my first wife, who'd be 11, or my present wife, who'd be 13, though again I'd know exactly where to find them.  I could literally walk up to their front door and knock, since I know where both were living in 1973.  I.D. wouldn't be nearly the problem at the time that it is now; with a little cleverness I could probably induce the bureaucracy at the time to credit my obvious existence and their inability to prove that I was someone other than whom I claimed.  Would take time, but as someone with a lot of experience regarding time spent on this planet, I can say quite honestly that three years isn't all that long after all.

My point is that I'd have to build all of my life from scratch, not just my D&D game.  And without any expectation of going to the future, I'd have no reason to worry about the long term, widespread consequences of my actions.  In any case, speaking from wisdom, I'd find someone I loved, who would probably have trouble understanding me, raise some kids, keep track of my old self and give a little help from time to time, rebuild my D&D world (because I honestly love D&D and aren't really interested in pursuing some other activity, even after all these years) and just get on with living, enjoying the extra decades in good health that the opportunity provided.  Then I'd wait for the opportunity to dig up the genius who invented the time machine that got me back the first time and use it again.  Maybe by then, I'd be interested in trying some other career I once contemplated — acting, singing, filmmaking — but that would depend on how I'd changed over those next five decades.  And would depend on my not being hit by a bus or some other fool accident.

The second alternative is that I return as my 9-y.o. self, in my own body, in the bosom of my family, with me being the only one aware that anything's changed.  As I said, I'd have my whole knowledge and experience, packed into a 9 y.o. mind ... which might result in some degredation of memory due to that being prior to puberty.  I'd need a neurologist to sort that out.

I find myself fascinated with this prospect — I'm sure I wrote a post about it, and not that long ago.  I've considered how strange it would be to find myself in my parent's house, looking at it through an adult's eyes.  I imagine one obstacle is that I wouldn't remember very recent events, which would surely be commented upon at the time of my arrival.  I wouldn't remember the names of my teachers, or probably a lot of my classmates, or where I was supposed to be at certain times of the day.  I wouldn't know where to find things when my mother told me to fetch them for her.  I'd have to walk through the whole house as soon as possible, taking an inventory of every closet and cupboard, in the hopes of staying ahead of that game.  No doubt, just the disconnect with myself a few days before would freak my parents out.  They'd assume I'd had some kind of psychotic break — though that wouldn't be the term they'd use — and pack me off for tests and such.  I'd have to be mighty careful how I answered questions, wouldn't I?  On the whole, for those first few months before I got my "sea legs," it'd be quite something to overcome.

I wouldn't have much to do with my free time.  Our television in 1973 had two channels, there were a few radio stations, no computer, not even an electric typewriter.  The house had a manual old-style ink-tape typewriter, which I did have free use of when I was nine because I was the only one interested in it.  I could write on paper and read.  That's about all.   Certainly I'd go about doing both.  I'd suddenly stop watching TV, though there'd still be old movies that I'd still want to see.  I did that with my mother starting at 8, so that wouldn't seem odd.  A lot of those movies, however, I presently have as mp4s, so it's not like seeing them again would be especially nostalgic.  All other television, which I've had a chance to revisit with youtube, would have zero interest for me.

So I'd be in my room — probably doing my homework with greater enthusiasm than my old self — and slowly, slowly build the game world I have now.  I think, exactly as I have it now, except no doubt there's be jumps and eureka moments I haven't conceived of yet.

I wouldn't build a different world.  Because I like the world I have.  I've built it already just the way I think it needs to be.  I think it's ridiculous to think, "If I had a chance to build my world over, I'd do it this way instead."  All right.  Why don't you just do it?  What the hell are you waiting for?  If you don't like the world you have, if you don't like the rules you're playing, why are you doing it this way?  Why don't you just take the next fifteen or twenty years and sort yourself out?

What else are you gonna do with your time?  If you want to be a musician, go be a musician.  D&D is an enormous time-sink and it's robbing the time you ought to be spending practicing, networking, studying, collaborating and advancing as a musician.  If you're still working on your D&D world while dreaming of being anything else, you might as well get out a gun and shoot yourself in the foot.  Pick a thing you like, and then do it the way you like it.  Stop wasting your freaking time.  What, you think you have an unlimited supply?  Get on it.

Now.

The nice thing about starting everything over again at nine would be all the blind alleys I didn't go down on my way to achieving my present results.  At the time, I didn't know the destination.  I know it just fine, now.  There'd be more than a few drawbacks in not having the computer technology I have now, along with the internet as a source, but when the program Lotus came around in 1984 (pre-cursor to excel), I'd be ready with inputting the trade tables.  I'd have profound examples of hand-drawn maps and a very clear idea of how to run as a DM by the time AD&D emerged.  I wouldn't have to wait until my chance discovery in 1985 of the map department at the University of Calgary.  Those maps would be there in 1973, awesomely ... though it might be difficult convincing the librarian to open the locked drawers for a 9-y.o. and letting him use a light table.  There'd be many other things along those lines.  My young self would know precisely where all the resources that I needed were kept — and there'd be quite a few librarians stunned by the precociousness of this boy (since, unlike with my parents and family, I wouldn't have to pretend so much).

I can add a bunch of things about my personal life here.  If there was still a Roberta to meet in high school, I sure wouldn't tap that nightmare again.  Not that I wouldn't want to ... but ... well, we don't need to go down there.  As I remember, she was more than ready to tap me — quite mutual that — so I'd probably have to hurt her to hold her off ... but absolutely, better for the both of us.

I'd look for Michelle.  I might even marry her again.  Hard to say.  I'm not 23 any more.  And heartbreakingly, even if we had a child, that child would never again be the child I have now.  I wouldn't be the same parent.  These are hard, hard things to think about; and the reader is no doubt uncomfortable with the share at this moment.  I suppose I'm only trying to say that reviewing the choices one's made in the past is not as simple, nor as gentle, as stories and films try to make them.  The consequences of doing anything monumental are dire and full of remorse.  There are a lot of reasons to be careful what we wish for, and what we stop ourselves from grabbing.

Okay, okay.  Christmas holidays coming.  Hopefully, the year-end of the 4th quarter can lift now and I might breathe a little.  I'm off to the liquor store today (sorry, Omaha, but you had it coming) to buy a huge bottle of Bailey's Irish and some Grand Marnier.  Some flavours must be tasted in December.  Then I have lights to put up on my deck.

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