Pick a Door

Pick a Door

It was the grand opening of a new museum in New York City, The Metropolitan Museum of Self Awareness. It was the first of its kind. I read the brochure describing the museum, but it didn’t make any sense. “This museum is dedicated to the knowledge of self. Explore the past as only you can experience. 

I had nothing planned that Saturday so I decided to go and check it out. I convinced some of my friends from my writing group to join me. 

As we arrived I saw that the outside looked rather plain. Inside there were a number of chairs with people sitting in them wearing virtual goggles and headsets. I could hear the people talking, laughing, crying, and making an assortment of hand and arm motions. Other than that there was nothing special to look at. 

After paying our admission, which I must say was quite expensive, we were all given virtual goggles to wear, a noise-canceling headset, and they attached some sort of patch to our skin just behind our necks. We were told to find an empty chair, put on the goggles and headset, and say the word “Start”.

The chair was quite comfortable. After placing the goggles and headset on, I sat back and said, “Start”. There was a brief moment of darkness and then I found myself in a room filled with lots of doors. Above each door, there was a number. The numbers went sequentially. I was instructed to pick a door and go through it. I chose the first door which was closest to me and was numbered 1950. As I stepped through the door, my world changed.

The clock on the wall read 4:37 a.m. and I was in a hospital. I was in a delivery room. The woman that was giving birth looked familiar. It was a boy being delivered. I listened as the baby took its first breath and the doctor said, “Mark the time, September 13, 4:38 a.m. healthy male child by vaginal delivery,  height: 17 inches, weight: 6 lbs. 4 ozs. No complications. It didn’t take me long to figure out where I was. I was witnessing my own birth. A bit more information than I needed.  I quickly exited that room and looked at the rest of the doors in the main room. 

There was a door numbered for different years of my life. I decided to pick another door to see where it took me. I chose 1963. As I walked through the door, I found myself in a synagogue. I guessed where I was. Not being a very religious person, there is only one reason I would be in a synagogue in 1963. It was my bar mitzvah. I was impressed. I looked small in front of everyone but was confident enough to say all the things that I was supposed to say. It wasn’t the Hebrew that I was supposedly reading that impressed me, ln actuality, I had written out everything that I had to say that day in English phonetics prior to learning it. I don’t remember if I had the phonetic translation with me on that actual day, or whether I memorized my part. What impressed me was that I could sing those words, using and remember the tune. I stuck around for the reception afterward, it looked liked I had a lot of fun.

The next room that I tried was 1985. I found myself at a party. This is where I would meet my future wife, Christina. It all played out just as I remembered it. The dancing, the conversation, the walk to my car as I was leaving, our first kiss. I wanted to stay a little longer and go back into the house to see what she experienced and did after leaving me, but I guess I was only allowed to follow my timeline, not someone else’s. 

The next door I went through was 1993. I was back in a hospital, and watching the birth of my child. I guess when you are in the moment you don’t get to appreciate all that is happening around you. In this case, I saw it all; It was quite an experience.

The last door I went through was 2013. It was November and I was with my sister, Leslie, her husband, and my newly found half-brother, Franz, and his wife, at my father’s grave. I watched as Franz took a good luck/health stone from his pocket, that was given to him as a gift after surviving some serious health issues, which he always carried with him, and placed it on the headstone of our father. That, too, was quite an emotional experience.

My time at the museum had run out without even having to leave the room I was in. The doors disappeared and the view went black, a voice thanked me for visiting the museum. I was told to sit quietly and wait for museum personnel to come and retrieve their equipment. While I was waiting I was told to reflect upon the visit.

I thought about telling everyone else what I saw. But then again, why would they be interested? It was my life, not theirs. They must have had their own memories to visit. I was curious about which rooms they decided to go to. Maybe someday they will write about their experiences and share them with me. 

We all got together when we were done and just looked at each other for a while. Some of us looked happy, some not so much, some even had a touch of anger in their visage. We did talk about whether or not we would want to go back to the museum. Feelings were mixed. My guess is that once word got out about what the museum really was, there would be a long wait before you could get in. 

In fact, within a week, the museum was shut down. The mayor and city legislature found that it caused too much traffic and disruption. The last I heard it moved its location. The only problem is nobody knows where.