What If? The Curiosity That Led Me to the Fringe

I’ve always been the kid who asked, “What if?” Whether I was dreaming up alternate realities or concocting wild scenarios on long car rides, my curiosity knew no bounds. My dad would humor me with a knowing smile. “What if we drove off the road and hit that tree?” I’d wonder aloud. He’d smirk and reply, “Then that would be what happened.” It was a simple answer, but it captured how I saw the world: an endless array of possibilities, most of which we’d never encounter unless we dared to veer off the beaten path.

In the mid-’90s, during those long drives, my curiosity found a new outlet: Art Bell. Late-night AM radio became our gateway to the unknown. Coast to Coast AM filled the car with stories of the paranormal, time travel, and mysteries that bent the boundaries of reality. Art Bell treated these topics with genuine curiosity, making even the wildest tales seem almost plausible. For a kid like me, always asking “What if?” it was mesmerizing.

Late-night radio became more than just background noise—it became a ritual that fed my curiosity about what lay beyond the ordinary. Looking back, I see it wasn’t escapism; it was a way to explore life’s mysteries, using strange ideas as lenses to examine bigger questions about who we are and what reality might truly be. Each night, as the static-filled voices spoke of UFO sightings, government cover-ups, and time travelers, it felt like I was peeling back a layer of the world that most people chose to ignore. It wasn’t about believing every story; it was about considering the possibilities, letting my imagination wander down paths that conventional thinking had closed off. There was a thrill in entertaining the idea that the world was far more mysterious than it appeared, that behind the mundane routines of everyday life lay secrets waiting to be uncovered.

Art Bell’s show gave me permission to ask those questions without fear of ridicule. It made me realize that curiosity wasn’t something to be outgrown or suppressed; it was something to be nurtured. Through those late-night broadcasts, I found a way to connect with something larger—a sense that the universe was full of unknowns, and that exploring those unknowns, even hypothetically, was a way to better understand myself. The strange and the inexplicable became tools for probing the deeper aspects of existence, for contemplating what it meant to be human in a vast, enigmatic world.

By the late ’90s, my fascination shifted from late-night radio to the internet. Our family’s Windows 98 PC was primarily my stepmom’s eBay headquarters, so I had to squeeze in computer time whenever I could. I’d hop on the computer whenever the opportunity arose, splitting my time between visiting forums and using Limewire to download what I thought were Weird Al songs but often ended up being viruses. It was all part of my curiosity—anything high concept that could help me explore the big questions fascinated me.

While my friends were busy playing Doom or chasing girls, I was drawn to the obscure corners of the web: time travel forums, paranormal discussions, and communities where fringe ideas were taken seriously. That’s when I stumbled upon the Time Travel Institute (TTI) and Anomalies.net—forums where people shared theories that challenged the limits of reality.

These weren’t just websites; they were communities where people like me could dive deep into the big “What ifs.” Time travel, alternate realities, fringe science—these weren’t abstract concepts at TTI. They were discussed with the same passion others reserved for sports or politics. For someone already hooked on the strange stories from Coast to Coast, these forums were like discovering a hidden goldmine of endless possibilities.

One name that still stirs up memories, especially if you’re here reading this, is John Titor. For those unfamiliar, Titor claimed to be a time traveler from the year 2036, sent back to recover technology to prevent a future catastrophe. His detailed posts on TTI sparked intense debate, and his name became legendary. His predictions of a future civil war in the U.S. and impending global unrest were strange, yet delivered in a way that felt… plausible, if you looked at them from just the right angle.

Every day after school, I’d rush home, wait for the modem to groan its way online, and dive into the forums to see if John Titor had posted anything new. Watching the saga unfold was intoxicating—part science fiction, part conspiracy theory, part soap opera. Titor’s future was dystopian and gritty, but strangely compelling. It was the ultimate “What if?” for someone like me, teetering on the edge of skepticism and wonder.

I immersed myself in the debates and theories, absorbing everything like a sponge. The discussions ranged from the technicalities of time travel to the ethical implications of altering history. While I didn’t actively participate, preferring to observe from the sidelines, the ideas exchanged fueled my imagination for days. The forums were a treasure trove of unconventional thinking, a place where questioning the nature of reality was not just accepted but encouraged.

Reflecting now, I realize my fascination with the John Titor story wasn’t about believing in time travel or the paranormal. It was about exploring deeper, existential questions. “What if?” wasn’t just about time travel—it was about reality itself. What if everything we think we know is wrong? What if the world isn’t as fixed as we believe? These forums provided a space to ask those questions in ways traditional thinking didn’t allow. For a high school kid who loved fringe topics, they were the perfect place to indulge in the strangest “What ifs” and feel less alone in my curiosity.

As the John Titor saga unfolded, I found myself increasingly captivated by the community’s energy. The debates were passionate, the theories elaborate, the possibilities endless. It was about a collective exploration of ideas that defied conventional wisdom. The experience broadened my horizons, challenging me to think differently and question everything.

Back then, the internet was still a wild frontier, and forums like TTI felt like secret clubs where a select few challenged the boundaries of understanding. I didn’t know it yet, but these fringe discussions would become a significant part of my life. They were shaping how I viewed the world and my place in it.

For now, I stayed up late, listening to Art Bell discuss things that defied reason, scrolling through posts about time machines and future predictions. I watched the John Titor story unfold and wondered: What if he’s telling the truth? What if reality is more malleable than we think?

And with that, I was hooked.