Well, since I spent three years in high school learning architecture and drafting and a decade obsessed with green architecture and tiny/hyper-efficient housing, it would be green. Green, eco-friendly, walkable, and littered with edible fruit trees and community gardens.
I don’t. Not currently at least. I have a vague idea of what I’d like to accomplish, but I’ve yet to sit down and figure out what I want to call a goal and how to get there.
The hesitation of the wind before a rainfall, or the silence of an undisturbed snowy morning. Most of my peace comes from nature. Or running water, in its many forms.
I guess it depends on the Universe we’re speaking of, honestly.
Maybe in another space, I live in a tiny cottage with a cat who chases sunbeams. There are plants growing everywhere because I don’t kill them with inattention or overwatering. My house smells of lemon cleaner, incense, and books. There’s clutter everywhere, but everything has its place. Maybe I knit more than crochet in this world.
Or maybe I live in a rambling old Queen Anne with a handful of friends? There’s laughter and the smell of fresh baked bread always in the air. Creaky stairs and a big bed in a small room I share with a partner or a bed hog of a pet corgi that needs a set of tiny stairs to get up on the bed with me.
Maybe I’m a mutant with the powers of telekinesis and precognition channeled through vision.
Or even further into non-reality, I live a life without constant pain. Without myopic eyes and a body slowly betraying me, I am a marathon runner and champion chili maker.