I would live in Lakeview, in a simple one-bedroom apartment with high ceilings and warm yellow walls in a sunny shade I picked out myself after copious sample examinations in a nearby hardware store. In the evenings, after my sunset runs up the bike path past Montrose Harbor (skipping the actual boardwalk paths, as they do nothing more than lead you everywhere and nowhere at once), I’d make my way over to Guthrie’s, my neighborhood bar of choice, for a bottle of Original Sin (or two) some playful competition over a board game (or two). I would fight a constant battle against the cinnamon rolls at Ann Sather and wish each day that just once the barista at Intelligentsia would make life perfect and say, “Skim milk in your latte? Sure, no problem at all.” I would consider giving tours of Wrigley Field, pointing out that while Wrigley has been the home to baseball since 1914, it’s only been home to the Cubs since 1916. I would find a quality karaoke night and make friends with the people who embrace the weekly turns at the mic. And while the winters are vicious and the summers can be cruel, I would embrace this quirky, charming big city that feels like a place I could happily call home.

I could do all of these things …

… if not for the things and people who have made Boston not just the city in which I live, but the home I love.

But sometimes, it’s nice to think about.