It doesn’t matter what the end goal is in life—a lover, a family, a career, a sandwich—we all want to make it somehow. We plot the course of our years in our own mental maps, daydreaming about that day when everything will be perfect. Oh, we all have those ideal days. It might look different, but in the end, it’s the same thing. We all want to feel that rush of absolute fulfillment. That moment we’ll utter “yeah, my life is perfect.” We don’t know when it’ll happen, or how it’ll feel exactly, but somehow we aspire for it.
We study through the night, endure days of heartbreak, spend frustrated evenings in tears—inspired by the vague presence of fulfillment in the far distance.
But what does ‘making it’ mean, even?
Is it finally topping your class after hours and hours of pouring over books? Does that even count if you never see your friends except when they bump into you (literally) on campus?
Is it being remembered?
Is it simply being?
And how do we know we’ve made it? How do we know that at this very point in time, what we’ve done is enough? How do we know we’ve gotten ‘there’?
‘There’ is such a vague concept. We just sort of assume it’ll clear itself out sometime in the future. The fog will lift, and we’ll see it in the distance: among perfectly pouffy clouds and sunshine. Meanwhile, we’ll just keep getting ourselves lost in the mist.
See the problem?
How can we ‘get there’ if we can’t even see where ‘there’ is?
What if we’re all just running on a treadmill, chasing this photoshopped image of the future?
Because, to be honest, that’s what we’re doing.
As much as we’d like to know where ‘there’ is, and as much as we’d like to know when we’d be fulfilled in life, it doesn’t work that way.
We can’t predict the future—not a single moment from now. Not really, at least. Sure, we can make our approximations and sometimes, we’ll even get it right! But, we’re not God. We can’t know.
What do we do, then?
We all want to get ‘there’ but we don’t often think of where we are now.
And maybe we should think about it. After all, for all we know, ‘there’ might never materialize.
Now is all we’ve got at the moment, quite literally so. The past is just a memory we cling to, and the future is a dream we run to, but now is undervalued. It’s not nice to take it for granted. I suppose that’s why the present can throw us to the dogs sometimes. We don’t care for it enough.
‘There’ is important, yes, but so is ‘here’.
Our fixation on this obscure tomorrow is understandable—we like to hope there’s something better.
Isn’t that always the way?
We hope for a better tomorrow and are blinded by the beauty of today?