Most of us have a private highlight reel of bad decisions and near-misses. We tell ourselves it built “character,” which is true in the same way a broken leg “builds resilience.” If a door appeared tomorrow and said, Pick a date, off you go, most people would at least hover by the handle.
That’s the itch at the heart of A Page in Your Diary: not the sci-fi bells and whistles, but the quiet human fantasy of a do-over. Fewer grand paradoxes, more small mercies. Not “save the world,” just “save that one moment from making you wince every time you think about it.”
If you gave people a single ticket back, these would be the usual suspects:
- The relationship fork in the road. Not the big cinematic breakup — the smaller choice: the person you didn’t call back, or the person you shouldn’t have.
- Career left turn. The job you took for security that dulled you, or the risk you bottled that would’ve woken you up.
- Words you can’t unsay. A sharp comment in a heated moment that did more damage than you meant — or the apology you never managed.
- Money and mess. The daft loan, the shiny car, the get-rich-quick scheme that mainly enriched someone else.
- Health and habits. Years of “I’ll start Monday,” the neglected check-up, the extra drinks that became a default setting.
The trouble, of course, is that the past isn’t a tidy spreadsheet. Change one cell and the formulas elsewhere go feral. The worst day of your life might also be the hinge that led to someone you couldn’t now imagine not knowing. Annoying, but there it is.
So would I change the past if I could? On certain days: absolutely. On others: I’m not sure I’d dare. What I do know is this — we don’t need a time machine to behave like we’ve learned something. You can’t edit yesterday, but you can nick a page from it and write today with fewer crossed-out lines.
If that sort of moral headache appeals, you’ll probably enjoy this one:
