Growing up assigned me a difficult, disheartening chore of grieving the future that I thought was mine. Because life happens, and most of the time we have no control over that. Most of us have been caught following an unwritten script of strict timelines and extravagant expectations of when exactly things are supposed to happen for us — completely healed, working a dream job, making someone’s 30 under 30 list, living in our dream house, married with children, receiving some prestigious award, owning a successful business, etc. We become tangled in these lonely dreams so much to the point where our reality starts to look like something we despise— if we aren’t careful. A reality that triggers feelings that we sometimes can’t stand the taste of because it doesn’t look like the plan that we’ve placed all our faith in.
I felt a strange yet comforting ambush of peace, something like contentment, when I decided to decenter the idea of where and who I thought I’d be by now. I even think a lot of things happened “late” for me if they happened at all, but I’m immensely grateful for change and growth in several areas of my life. I’m living in prayers I’ve journaled about. Ain’t that sweet?
There’s still joy here. There’s still so much to be proud of and tend to right now. I have an endless garden of things that need my attention. And there’s still time.
Decentering the version of who I thought I’d be is a breakup that no one prepared me for, but it’s a pain I’m willing to experience because it’s forcing me to live more in the moment. It takes a lot of work to not get caught up in wondering when things will finally happen for you. I’d rather place that energy elsewhere on things that will help me get closer to what I want out of life. Worrying too much about the future creates anxiety, but focusing on my “now” gives me purpose.
As I write this, a poem I haven’t thought about since high school comes to mind: Harlem (A Dream Deferred) by Langston Hughes. What happens to those dreams that we have yet to step into? Those forgotten dreams. Do we water them? Maybe speak life over them? Do we accept what is and let them wither away? Sometimes a delay in dreams coming to fruition means just not yet; other times, it can be a complete rerouting. Either way, I have to trust that what is supposed to be will happen and whatever happens will be for the best.
The truth is there’s a possibility that I’ll never meet the version of me that I’ve created in my head and have believed in for years, believing that this is who I’ll be; this is what I’ll do. That doesn’t mean I don’t think of great and lovely things when I think of my future or who I will become. It means I have an understanding that allows me to love the version of myself that exists now. Regardless of what she (future me) does for work, who she loves, what she wears, or what her passions are, she doesn’t deserve to have her life counted out because it’s not what I originally had in mind.
And then one day it hits you: you need to let go. Of timelines. Of fear. Of poor routines. Of limiting beliefs. Of self-sabotage. It all must go. Having tunnel vision of what I cannot quite see yet felt like I was going insane in a constant whirlpool of worry and skepticism. It’s so easy to drown in the pool of unfulfilled dreams while your present life is demanding your attention. There’s still work to do right now. You have wins waiting to be celebrated right now.
The reality is things didn’t start moving for me until I started loving and showing up for my current self. Future me is counting on present-day me to do what I can with what I have, to not neglect myself and other things, trying to anxiously chase what could be.
Yes, there are dreams I thought were mine that ended up not being good for me after all (thank God). I can no longer let the anxious thoughts of if this or that will happen for me control my life and keep me stuck. This acceptance feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders that I was bored with carrying. I’ve placed my bets on things for years and awoke one day not wanting them anymore, craving something completely different. There are things I’m still looking forward to, but sometimes I still wrestle with whether their time will come. Grief works like that; it shows up when you least expect it. Although it hurts at times, this grief will not be in vain. There’s so much more available to me than I could even imagine.