Time is an oven.
Ten years ago, I was dreaming, learning to sing, discovering the advent of social media, writing poems in a slew of spiral notebooks for journals, people watching alone in DC (quite uncanny for other young adults around my age).
That was ten years ago, but it was also every moment between now (ten years in the future) and then.
Time is funny like that. I don’t know why…it just is.
Our minds can speculate and conjure and wander, but there is never a full and accurate portrayal of how events will play out exactly, not until they happen, that is.
Until then, there’s the little girl or little boy waiting in limbo inside of all of us, propped up on elbows on a twin-sized mattress, replaying melodies of Jason Mraz and Nickel Creek until sundown, munching on comfort food snacks, skipping dinner, and daydreaming off into the nighttime.
That’s me and it was me ten years ago. It’s still me.
Because the future is about as evanescent as a passing afternoon, it’s all the more important to write.
Do this even if you wouldn’t call yourself a writer by occupation or craft.
Do this because you are yourself in the future right now at this moment, and your ten-year-ago self is you all the same.
Write your dreams, write your future, write your now…and share them.