I’m feeling a bit like George Bailey these days, wondering what the world would be like if I’d never been born. Last night, I lied awake thinking about what would be different.
There is the obvious, of course, that my three children would not have been born, but aside from that I can’t think of anything. I’ve not saved anyone’s life, or cured any diseases. I haven’t been the deciding vote in any contest of importance. My only creations include some not terribly meaningful blog posts and some unfinished manuscripts. Lots of poetry that no one reads but me.
Perhaps someday, one of my kids will do something phenomenal, and in their biography I will be listed as the mother. But that is them, not me, and it would be retrospection.
So what does this mean? Am I not real? Am I only alive in my own consciousness? If I were to suddenly disappear, would their be a void in the world, or simply open space?