The rules of genie interaction are “simple and finite” – no wishing for more wishes. And, thanks to the Aladdin twist, we also know about not wishing to be a genie: “Phenomenal cosmic powers, itty bitty living space.”

No one wants to live in a lamp. Not even the I Dream of Jeannie one. Though free and fully furnished is a nice option. And she probably had great medical. Though medical insurance would not be one of my wishes. I live in Canada. I have universal coverage already. Not to worry. I have other wishes planned for that magic lamp.

Life is Pain

My first wish would be for me. My life is often about pain. I’m not referencing metaphysical pain here, though I’ve had my share of that – and perhaps a smidge more she said, sympathy seeking. No, for this wish, I’m referring to physical pain, of which I’ve experienced plenty. I’d ask the genie to make my body good.

I started a bit behind the eight ball with a premature breech birth that included a congenital hip dislocation that required traction and a body cast for the first six weeks. Despite the interventions, my hip has continued to give me grief.

A subsequent case of Legg–Calvé–Perthes at around age two made things worse. The additional damage to my hips and pelvis caused strain on my lower back, and I had issues as I grew. It didn’t help that I fractured my spine in my thirties.

The result of these things – and another back injury at seventeen – is periodic bouts of pain and diminished capacity. On the upside, I have the disabled parking pass to use in times of need, but the downside is that I’ve learned that canes render one invisible. They also make it harder to function – you’ve lost a hand. I’m grateful I don’t need them all the time. Mostly when the arthritis hits in the damp and the cold.

Is it funny or sad?

I have story after story. I have bone breaks, accidents, anaphylaxis, chronic bronchitis and pneumonia, concussions, diseases, and chronic pain. Sharing starts to feel like humble bragging.

Someone once told me that my “funny” stories are all based on personal horrors. I suppose that’s true. Tragedy plus time equals comedy.

If I found a genie, for my first wish, I’d wish to be less funny. I’d wish for less inspiration. I’d wish for a skeletomuscular system that makes orthopods and physiotherapists weep for joy, and for the robust immune system I was denied.

The wish is going to need a bit of editing. I haven’t seen the rules, but I think wishes are supposed to be only one sentence long. It’ll definitely be compound – I’ve lots to cover.

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Money Buys Happiness

Money buys happiness. Money buys happiness especially when you experience a shortfall, and it makes things infinitely better if you regularly run tight. Nobody likes living skint. It’s hard on the everything. My second genie wish would be about cash.

Pain doesn’t make you a better person, and neither does poverty. You don’t need to suffer to have character. The idea that money doesn’t buy happiness refers only to excess. As is true with most things, there’s a point of acquisition where you start getting diminishing returns. When you have no books, a new book makes you very happy. When you have ten million books, another book or ten thousand becomes less interesting.

Unless it’s the new Nora Roberts release. Buying that makes me happy indeed.

Poverty buys misery. Being poor is a bad time. Being short money impacts all areas of your life. Being broke takes up a lot of mental space. You obsess over money. You think about bills and cash all the time. You’re stretched and juggling, and tired with it. Exciting purchases like food and heating get the either-or treatment.

When you live in poverty, you lose the economies of scale advantage. Poor people can’t buy bulk purchases that save money, or better quality products that last longer thus saving money in the long run. There’s no happiness when you’re living anxious, when you’re waiting for the next paycheque so bills and shopping can get done, so you can be stressed again until the next bit of money arrives. Poverty is a trap, and it’s very hard to get out.

I live poor.

I live poor. I’ve lived poor most of my adult life. It doesn’t build character. It mostly pisses you off. I’m fortunate in my poverty because my parents had several homes, and I lived in one with my son for reduced, and then for no rent. Without the housing assist, things would’ve been dire indeed.

I live poor mostly because of mental illness. Outside employment is difficult for me to sustain. I historically last two to three years before a breakdown. I’m grateful for disability insurance.

I thought about wishing for personal wealth. Not just for riches, but to be wealthy, to have the hundreds of millions (or even billions) that the privileged few have at their beck. I’d use my newfound wealth and status to fix the world. Because power never corrupts people. We always manage it well. I’d definitely get to it almost right away. I’m thinking of Birkins already.

Instead, my second wish will be for a universal basic income. We’ve no need for poverty at this point in time. That it exists at all demonstrates our selfishness and lack of will. We have the money and resources to ensure everyone has enough money to live a comfortable life. We have the means to create systems that will let people work and enjoy some of the extras without making devil’s bargains between food and rent.

A UBI doesn’t have people living large. There will still be people with more who can hold onto their status. A basic income simply takes away the soul-destroying stress of poverty. It lets people breathe. It also lets people shop. And at the end of the day, shopping is what our economies run on.

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And For Your Last Wish…

Maybe people wish for more wishes because coming up with three is a challenge. Maybe asking the genie for more wishes is simply a way to delay. After all, I’ve fixed my aches and pains – and hopefully, those fixes adjust my clumsy – and eliminated poverty. What’s left for wish number three? Should I fix the world? That’s not something that can be addressed in a single wish. What does that sentence even mean?

Fix it how? According to what model and whose ideas? Fix interpersonal and international relations, or the planet proper? Do I forcibly mentally evolve people so we’re all on the same progressive page, warping them to my preferences? I’m sure that wouldn’t be traumatic at all. And there’s the ethical issue of me deciding our collective future. Why do I get to pick? Or should I play Thanos, and snap my finger, ridding the world of bad people instead? But then I’d have to define “bad,” and definitions can be problematic. “Bad” by what metrics? According to who?

Plus, I’ve already used one of my nonreplenishable wishes on the universe, so perhaps this last one can also be only for me. And now that I’ve got a UBI, I won’t need that rich wish anymore. I’m topped up.

I don’t believe in undoing what’s been done. I wouldn’t wish for this or that thing to have not happened because one thing leads to another, and you never know where you’ll end up if you chop out something historical. However, my ethics when it comes to the butterfly effect seem to stop at my face.

Face wishes.

I have damage and scars on my face and neck from the cutting and picking and slicing and dicing that came with my body dysmorphia. The scarring is plentiful and obvious, at least to me, especially the surgical bits. Plus, minor nerve damage has warped my smile. For my third wish, I’d wish my facial damage undone.

And, since I’m making face wishes, I’m adding back the eyebrows I had in my twenties – menopause eats eyebrows – and some low-grade duck lips – menopause flattens those as well. Additionally, I’ll wish for blemishes nevermore. It’s easier to not pick when one is facing perfection.

And that’s three. I hope the wishing ends well. My choices looks good on paper: no more chronic pain, no more money stress, and my skin is clear and fabulous. Things are theoretically looking up. The genie better not be an evil, Wishmaster one. I’ll be testy if it is. Though it would kind of figure.

What three wishes would you make?

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