The Life You Didn’t Choose

If you could do anything—but it must be different from your current life—what would it be?

One of my favorite icebreaker questions is “If you could have a totally different life and career, what would you choose?”

It’s a fun thought exercise, and almost everyone has an answer. (Some people know right away, and others have to ponder for a few minutes—but eventually they know.)

For me, a few answers come to mind. In one other life, I’d be a magician—a mentalist, specifically. I’ve always liked magic, especially the deeply moving performance art made by some of the best mentalists.

I’d also like to be an orchestral composer, making music for video games and film. Long ago I played in bands, and over the years I’ve missed practicing and performing.

Those are both freelance roles, which suit me, but if I had to have a “real job,” I’d like to be an air traffic controller. As much as I love flying, I’ve never really wanted to be a pilot. Being on the ground directing air traffic, however, seems like a real-life video game.

A close second to air traffic is broadcast director for a TV show. I love the quick decision making and coordination required to pull together a coherent production. If you’re not familiar with this role, here’s a fun documentary I found that shows broadcast TV on steroids—a high-end production team broadcasting a popular football (soccer) match for Twitch.

For this broadcast, the team used 24 cameras. The person “calling” a broadcast like this needs to know what each camera is showing and when to switch to it. Fun times.

Finally, if we’re considering fantasy jobs, I’d like to be part of a team pulling off a great art museum heist. It seems like a good mix of planning and on-the-ground improvising!

Looking at the list, a few obvious connection points emerge: they all reward long periods of hyperfocus, which I love. You spend years quietly building knowledge, and then everything depends on one live stretch where you have to see patterns, decide fast, and stay calm under pressure.

The jobs themselves couldn’t be more different. But the cognitive experience is remarkably similar.

Here’s why I keep asking people about their other lives: because nobody picks a fantasy life at random.

The specific answers matter less than the thread running through them. Whatever you’d choose is telling you something about what you’re wired for, and it’s a cheap way to find out, since you never have to quit your job to learn it. When someone says “park ranger” or “session drummer,” pay attention to the thing underneath. Usually they notice it too, about halfway through answering.

Do I wish I’d lived a different life?

Not quite. It's more that I'd like to have lived several. I’m perfectly happy with the life I’ve chosen—or perhaps stumbled into—and I still catch myself wondering about the others.

One of the quiet costs of adulthood is realizing that every serious commitment also means closing the door on dozens of other interesting futures. You don’t just choose one life—you gradually stop choosing thousands of others.

During the pandemic, I spent a few months writing orchestral music. Nobody asked for it, and I never shared it with anyone. But I loved the process! Every day I got to immerse myself in something unfamiliar and learn a little more about how it worked. It gave me a taste of the fantasy: what if this were the whole thing, not the hobby? What if I gave it my full engagement?

In the end, of course, I’m not going to do that. It was just a phase, and that’s okay. But now and then, I still find myself wondering.

How about you—what would your other life be?

If you keep returning to the same fantasy life, ask yourself what you’re actually craving. Is it mastery? Adventure? Solitude? Performance? High stakes? Precision? Creativity?

You probably don’t need to become an air traffic controller or a composer. But perhaps there’s a way to bring a little more of whatever those lives represent into the one you’re already living.