Column: Daydreaming about what we would have done in our ‘Other Lives’

Other Lives.

Have you ever imagined yourself — if indeed it would even be appropriate to continue to refer to yourself as yourself — being a completely different person, existing in a totally different environment and living a completely different life?

À la Walter Mitty.

On occasion I’ve permitted myself such a luxury, and I bet you have too.

Caution: some people have based their lives on these fantasies. Generally speaking, that’s not a good idea.

When I was much, much younger, I dreamed of being a Major League Baseball first baseman or NBA power forward. Obviously, that could never have happened, even had I grown an extra 6 to 8 inches — as David Robinson did — during my senior year of high school.

Being 5-foot-9 puts a crimp on one’s NBA aspirations. It just does.

When I wasn’t nearly so young, I dreamed of being an MLB , NBA or NFL broadcaster. Uh, that didn’t happen either. And probably for good reason.

I’ve learned that divine providence, without a doubt, plays an integral role in life’s outcomes.

So, I enlisted in the Army — got my head on straight — and returned to civilian life to enroll in college.

What now?

When I allow myself a moment of reverie to consider an alternative life for a completely different brand of Jim Carnett, I come up with something along these lines:

I’m 30ish, unattached, multilingual and live in an ancient but charming little flat in a Northern city — like Prague or Chicago or Vienna — with perpetual snow on the ground.

I spend much of my time in drafty concert and recital halls, enthusiastically — nay, madly — playing the cello for a symphony orchestra and string quartet. Yep, this power forward plays the cello: it’s my fantasy, and I can pick whatever instrument I like!

You prefer the trombone? Go for it in your own flight of whimsy.

That’s a very different life for one such as myself who can’t play scales on a piano. No biggie. “Other Lives” permits one to exhibit any talent one wishes without first struggling for an advanced degree in physics or a doctorate in musical arts. I employ Professor Harold Hill’s Think System (think the notes and play them) from “The Music Man.”

I love classical music — always have — and I wager it’d be exciting to be a concert musician. Besides, being a member of a team, like the Chicago Symphony, and performing Beethoven’s Ninth would be more satisfying than playing right field for the Cubs.

When I was young, I was one weird kid.

At the age of 14, when I was home alone, I’d put Revel’s “Bolero” on my dad’s turntable and jack the volume to 10. I’d put my ear next to our hardwood floor and feel the music vibrate through the birch wood … sounding like Bill Russell crashing a rebound on Boston Garden’s parquet floor.

Well, not really.

Besides Bolero, Handel’’s “Halleluiah Chorus” or the fourth movement of Beethoven’s Ninth can also do the trick.

My father taught me to love classical music … loud! The louder the better. I confess I still take my music loud.

When I was a young man I would visit Mom and Dad on Saturday afternoons. When Mom was shopping, Dad would be in the front yard touching up the eves with a semi-gloss enamel, or in the backyard gardening.

He had every window in the house open and the stereo cranked to the max. In my neighborhood you either loved Mozart or you put your house on the market.

When I was a member of Orange Coast College’s administrative staff, my dad and I attended campus symphony concerts together for more than 25 years.

I never had to worry about deciphering program notes in a darkened hall. Dad provided a running commentary in a hoarse whisper into my right ear.

Were my dad alive today what would he think of his son’s late-in-life cello fixation?

Weird?

Not on your life. He’d be proud!

JIM CARNETT, who lives in Costa Mesa, worked for Orange Coast College for 37 years.