I don’t much like guns and will probably never have one. In my utopia there are guns.
I don’t smoke—cigarettes, marijuana, doesn’t matter. Not my thing, and kind of nasty. In my utopia people smoke.
I don’t have any use for a big church. In my utopia steeples litter the countryside.
Big sugary drinks. Giant solar arrays. Trans fats. Caffeine. Cookie-cutter schools. One-size-fits-all healthcare plans. Which charity to support.
Pick for yourself, but not for me. I certainly won’t be picking for you.
In my utopia I trust you.
My utopia isn’t filled with people just like me, nor with anybody who would want me to set the rules for what they should like. Neither I nor any dictator, no matter how benevolent, is wise enough to identify some universal good behavior—beyond leaving other people alone—and prescribe it for the rest of us.
In my utopia you choose what you want to do and who to associate with. So do I.
My utopia is filled with things I despise—and the choice to avoid them.