Would You Rather...? A Case for Staying on Your Current Timeline.

Recently—between my regularly scheduled doomscrolling—a post floated across my feed that genuinely sent me spiraling:

Would you rather start over at 10 years old with all the knowledge you have today, or fast-forward to age 50 with several million dollars waiting for you?(For the record: not billionaire money. Just “very comfortable and no more budgeting spreadsheets ever again” money.)

Of course, the question had spawned the usual celebrity reaction memes. Insert my own reaction meme here:

My immediate answer? “Nah, fam.” Hard pass.Because right now I’m in a season of transition—a weird limbo where I have no clue what’s next—and every day feels like an amusement park run by a chaotic committee of emotions. Thoughts loop, corkscrew, and divebomb around my brain. Frankly, it sucks.

So yeah, a few days ago my gut reaction was: Fast-forward. Take the cash. Skip the unknown. Who cares about losing 20 years if it means I get to hop off the financial-stability roller coaster forever?

But today was different.

Today, I went for a run in the sunshine. Then a walk. Then another walk later with the dog. Because when you’re in a transition period, applying to jobs and answering wedding-vendor emails only takes a couple of hours… and the rest of the day is yours to wander the theme park of your mind and soak up some vitamin D. And today, for once, the rides were fun.

I found myself listening to music, running faster than usual (yes, I’m bragging), and thinking more deeply about that silly little question.

The first appeal of going back to being 10 years old is obvious: money. If I went full Back to the Future II, I could predict some inevitable sports outcomes and maybe end up even richer than Future Me. A Royals World Series in 2015, a solid Chiefs run, a Blues Stanley Cup—tell me that wouldn’t be a satisfying way to cash in on my childhood teams.

But I’m not Marty McFly. Or Biff Tannen.

And even if manipulating history for my own gain sounds kind of fun, I have zero interest in accidentally crafting a dystopian pleasure-paradise nightmare. I’ve seen the movie. I know how that goes.

So then I started thinking about the other appeal of going back: fixing mistakes.

Except… I don’t actually think I would.

If I went back a few months, I wouldn’t change my decision to leave my job and pursue a new path.

If I went back five years, I’d still say yes to teaching. It made me into a different human and leader. It gave me lifelong friends. It gave me my fiancé.

Six years ago, I’d still pack up my life and move to Indiana to work with the brilliant people at Zeta Tau Alpha. It was short, but transformative. Would I still choose SLU? I genuinely don’t know. But the people I met there became my bridesmaids. That’s hard to mess with. And given the choice between attending Sion or St. Teresa’s… look, I’m vain, and those red-and-green plaid skirts were a crime. I’d pick the purple every time.

Sure, there are people I wish I hadn’t dated, words I wish I’d swallowed, heartbreaks I would happily skip. But undoing all of that risks undoing the entire path that brought me here.

My life isn’t worry-free. It isn’t anxiety-free. It isn’t obstacle-free. But if I went back to age 10 with everything I know now, I’m pretty sure I’d spend most of my energy trying to replicate the exact same steps just to end up in this timeline again.

I hate not knowing what’s next. The uncertainty terrifies me. Some days, the roller coaster in my brain loops around the big childhood dreams I never chased—the novels I didn’t write, the parts of the world I didn’t travel, the National Geographic animals I never photographed in the glamorous job I never went Devil Wears Prada for, the risks I didn't take. In a world obsessed with production-as-purpose, it’s easy to mourn what didn’t happen.

But when I slow down—really slow down—I can see that the things I did choose opened doors to dreams I didn’t even know existed. Accidental dreams. Unexpected dreams. Ones I didn’t know I wanted… or deserved.

And even though I abhor this current phase I’m in—honestly, I’m exhausted from recalculating my expenses, refreshing my bank account, and praying I land a job by the end of December so I don’t have to reschedule the doctor’s appointment I booked back in September—I still wouldn’t jump ahead 20 years for the money.

Because even in the mess, I want to be here. I want to show up to things, take too many pictures, and drop it all into a blog every few years. I want to stay in the moment, because the Amusement Park—overwhelming as it can be—is pretty great overall. And the best part? You can always skip the rides you don’t want to go on.

So if the question is whether I’d throw out the whole scenario and stay right where I’m at? Honestly, Britney Broski sums it up best.