I wrote in my pen/paper journal a few weeks ago contemplating the future. Not so much in the 'what am I going to do tomorrow?' sense, but rather the future as it relates to the past and present. It struck me that the future will never come--it is a whisp of smoke, an intangible thought that we can never quite grasp. And at the same time, the future which seems so out of reach, is a direct contrast with the past which is staunchly concrete and immovable. The present is the only space of time that we actually have any control over. We can plan on what happens in the future to the extent that we have a basic outline of what's going to happen, but there are so many unplanned and unexpected variables. I find myself getting caught up in these variables that I have absolutely no control over, and end up obsessing over the what-ifs. What if instead of being upset about what could be happening, I would better focus my energies on the present. The here and now gives us so many options. When I stop and think of life in a three-part format like that, it makes it seem so silly to worry about what has happened in the past, and how it will affect the future. The only thing it can impact is the present, which is all we get to experience anyway. I'd love to be able to time travel six months ahead and know exactly how my wedding is going to go. I want to know that no one will be sick or overly anxious, that the guests will have a good time, and that even if things don't go entirely smoothly (which is bound to happen), that the event will be one that I look back on with fondness. Here's my goal for myself as the months unfold: be happy and appreciative of the planning process; be in the moment. This is the introduction to the next chapter in my life--unwritten. I do believe that I possess a certain amount of control over how the future unfolds, and I choose for it to be as memorable and warm as I can make it, and that God will see me through the parts that may blow a bit colder. In the end, six months will come and go, as will the years of my life, and the future will remain as elusive and uncertain as it always has been, the present will continue to saunter on, and every breath leaves us with a memory past.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
To the Future
I wrote in my pen/paper journal a few weeks ago contemplating the future. Not so much in the 'what am I going to do tomorrow?' sense, but rather the future as it relates to the past and present. It struck me that the future will never come--it is a whisp of smoke, an intangible thought that we can never quite grasp. And at the same time, the future which seems so out of reach, is a direct contrast with the past which is staunchly concrete and immovable. The present is the only space of time that we actually have any control over. We can plan on what happens in the future to the extent that we have a basic outline of what's going to happen, but there are so many unplanned and unexpected variables. I find myself getting caught up in these variables that I have absolutely no control over, and end up obsessing over the what-ifs. What if instead of being upset about what could be happening, I would better focus my energies on the present. The here and now gives us so many options. When I stop and think of life in a three-part format like that, it makes it seem so silly to worry about what has happened in the past, and how it will affect the future. The only thing it can impact is the present, which is all we get to experience anyway. I'd love to be able to time travel six months ahead and know exactly how my wedding is going to go. I want to know that no one will be sick or overly anxious, that the guests will have a good time, and that even if things don't go entirely smoothly (which is bound to happen), that the event will be one that I look back on with fondness. Here's my goal for myself as the months unfold: be happy and appreciative of the planning process; be in the moment. This is the introduction to the next chapter in my life--unwritten. I do believe that I possess a certain amount of control over how the future unfolds, and I choose for it to be as memorable and warm as I can make it, and that God will see me through the parts that may blow a bit colder. In the end, six months will come and go, as will the years of my life, and the future will remain as elusive and uncertain as it always has been, the present will continue to saunter on, and every breath leaves us with a memory past.
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