Like Nora Seed, protagonist of Matt Haig’s current bestselling novel, “The Midnight Library,” I have sometimes wondered, “What if?” What if I had made a different decision at important junctures in my life’s journey? I’m not in despair over my “book of regrets,” as Nora was over hers, but still it would be interesting to visit my own Midnight Library to see how my life might have gone if I had made different choices.
In my Midnight Library, shelves of books stretch endlessly—and they are all about me! Each one describes a life that could have been mine had I taken the first step that led there. Whatever I regretted not having chosen, I could read about how satisfying or unsatisfying that existence would have been. And if the latter, I could return to the library and select a different volume.
Reader
The first book I choose is my life as a reader for a publishing company in Boston. In 1959 I was fresh out of college, an English major. I had envisioned my first job: reading novels all day, manuscripts by hopeful writers awaiting my acceptance or rejection. Not that I would have the final say, but I would have the first pass at deciding whether a manuscript would land in the wastebasket or on an editor’s desk.
The book opens with me at Houghton Mifflin Publishing Company, walking down a hall. I’m wearing extra thick glasses that only amplify the bloodshot eyes and deep circles behind them. Vanity seems to be a thing of my past. A red-faced man comes out of an office, waving a bunch of paper in his hand. “What was this doing in the wastebasket?” I look closer and see it is one of my yesterday’s rejects. “Didn’t you see this is by Harry Melrose about a great white shark being hunted by Captain Ahem? How could you not recognize it as this century’s great American novel?” he demands, his face frighteningly close to mine. I can feel the tears well. “One more chance,” he says through gritted teeth. Apparently I have made such misjudgments before, though I can’t help but think he is the one off base here, not I.
Retreating into a roomful of young men and women all surrounded by mounds of paper, I realize I have far less power than I had always imagined. I start reading but I have a headache and my eyes are watering. The words swim on the page before me, and I realize this is not the life I wanted at all. Fortunately this realization is all it takes to get me back to the Midnight Library and the chance to choose another book.
Landscape architect
Although I was happy in my profession as a high school teacher, I sometimes regretted that there hadn’t been more options back then or that I hadn’t had the initiative to seek one out. I would love to have been a landscape architect, planning flower gardens with an unlimited budget. So in this book here I am looking at my latest creation, two long, curved, perennial gardens flanking an expanse of lawn with a small pool and fountain in its center. My knees and back are aching; I hadn’t realized I would have to do physical labor and not just draw pictures. I hear a gasp behind me and turn to see Mrs. Gotrocks, owner of the estate. “What have you done?” she screeches at me. “I hate pink flowers; I loathe yellow flowers; and I abhor white flowers. Take them out, take them out. And get rid of that monstrosity; I cannot abide the sound of falling water.” Tears of frustration roll down my cheeks and my knees buckle. I sit on the ground wondering how I ever thought this would be fun.
Dog breeder
Back in the library, I walk down the rows of shelves, checking titles of all my lives that might have been. I find one on my life as a dog breeder, something I often thought about doing. No mean bosses or unhappy clients, just adorable fur balls who will love me unconditionally. I couldn’t decide whether I’d breed German shepherds or Labrador retrievers—maybe both. On the very first page, my two female dogs have simultaneously had litters of eight pups each. I hadn’t had time to build outdoor facilities before the pups were born, so the Labs are all in my family room and the shepherds in the garage. The moms seem to have feeding under control so all I have to do is clean up, which means asking neighbors for all their old newspapers—never mind that they’re not the Washington Post or the Wall Street Journal—and constantly running between the house and the garage. Housebreaking is a nightmare, and it’s revolving doors as I take one pup after the other outside, each time wondering why it has to be the middle of winter.
The puppies get a little older. I am always being protected by the shepherds, who follow me everywhere, even into the bathroom. They bark their heads off if anyone comes to the door—which I notice family and friends aren’t doing much anymore—or if they hear a noise, any noise, outside. Meanwhile I am trying to protect the furniture and my clothing from being chewed up by the Lab pups. I chase them up one set of stairs and down the other as they run gleefully with a shoe, sock, or article of lingerie in their mouths. I wanted to be so careful in choosing owners when the pups were ready to go, but I am so exhausted when the time comes that I can’t wait to get rid of them. And when they’re all gone, I sob for days because I miss them so. I can’t imagine going through all this again. I want out.
No regrets
Back in the library, I realize that while there are many more books about my might-have-been lives, they’ll all be the same, none as perfect as I have imagined. Even though in the life I did choose there were always girls who rolled their eyes at something I said, boys who didn’t see why I didn’t want them doing math homework in my class, and students who thought every book we read was “stupid,” I really have no regrets. I’m checking out of my Midnight Library.
