The only thing stopping me from working all night on a project was accidentally looking at the clock, realizing I needed to be up in a few hours, and then noticing I should be sleeping. Otherwise, nighttime was the perfect period in which to get lost writing a story or arranging a song, passing the hours by like minutes. If it wasn’t for those revealing glances at the clock telling me otherwise, the night seemed like an area outside of time itself, where its passage was halted indefinitely. The house and world were quiet, and the only noise was the breeze coming through my window.
It’s moments like these, when time felt stopped, and the starlit summer sky became one with my room, that I thought about the future. Where would I be a year from now? What new challenge would occupy my time, and what would have become of the project on which I currently endeavored? Being a teenager, I was consistently around peers who impatiently paced life’s proverbial waiting room floor, eager to have time move them into the next phase of their lives. They wanted the independence, the responsibility, and the freedom that “growing up” promised. Conversely, I knew others who worried about – or even feared – the future.
The cliche “it’s about the journey, not the destination” rings true here. Over time, things will change, and I will grow up, but I hope to never lose that awe and wonder of the world around me, including those summer nights of stargazing and wondering what was above me in space, and before me in time. I didn’t need to rush forward into adulthood, for I had learned that if I was not content where I was now, striving for something different would just leave me wanting the next thing. There were mountains to climb, and I desired to scale further and higher, while simultaneously being able to appreciate all that life had to offer at the present stage and moment. Once you climb higher, the viewpoints change. You have to take in as much as you can while you’re there.
I believe those of us on the younger end of the age spectrum don’t always see this perspective clearly. Those fellow climbers a few steps above us on the mountain path have a better view of the surroundings, after all, so we desire to hurry up to where they stand, just to see that there is now a higher vantage point in the distance. We can fail to take in the sights from where we are at presently. The pondering of those late nights has taught me to be more content with where I’m at and await a timing greater than my own. Even now, I know I have so much more to learn about patience and expectancy for the future.
The inverse is true. I didn’t want time to stop, for I couldn’t remain in naivety forever. Those mountains to climb were calling, and I couldn’t let myself just sit by and simply gaze at their beauty on the horizon. Life experience has further taught me that one does not simply climb the mountain before them – they may slip and fall or lose their way along the journey. Success is built upon a multitude of failures, sometimes visible, other times overshadowed by the grandeur of the success. Ultimately, it is dependent on the perspective. If I were to attempt to scale higher without the proper training, equipment, and experience, I would no doubt fall down the entire mountain and be so dejected that I would not want to continue.
In my experience, this daunting mountain climb begins to explain why people are afraid of the future. Furthermore, everyone’s path through the mountains will be unique and different, meaning you cannot be certain of what you will encounter along the way. The approaching days are entirely unknown. We can plan and strategize all we want, but our future is not our own. No day is guaranteed to us, and no course of action or planned passage through the mountains will ever turn out how we expect. Since this is the case, I personally see no point in worrying or being anxious about the future and must remind myself of this truth when doubts creep into my mind. What comes to pass is inevitable, and we can choose to take on the hills and valleys in the distance or stay apathetic in one place, watching as those braver ascend without us.
As I reflect on this passage, both in this writing as well as at that time in my life, the lesson to myself is this: remain content where you are. Yearn for the growth that the future will bring while understanding that growth happens now, and just may not be visible until you’re standing miles ahead of where you were before. We’re not in as much control over our circumstances as we often think we are. But we always have full control over our attitude and spirit in those times.
Though years older now, I still look out that window and wonder what the future holds. Not in anxiety, nor impatience, but in anticipation.
