Future

There's this line in my favorite Ted talk by Tim Urban on procrastination, that goes, "It's always been my dream to have done a Ted talk in the past." I think we've all been there: the future perfect tense is so enticing. It's a way of skipping over the long, painful process of making whatever change or achieving whatever goal. It's a method of planting oneself in a future they have yet to fully earn.

I think about that line now, as I begin working on my application for medical school. Similarly, it's always been my dream to have gone to medical school in the past. To be a doctor and to treat patients. I want to have already been accepted to medical school, to have already done the work to learn and develop as a physician. Insert the 30-second montage scene here, and fast-forward to when I can make a difference in the lives of my patients.

Dreams are good. They fill me with the warm sensation of hope and purpose. Aspirations help me set goals and recognize my purpose. In an ideal world, it keeps me moving and making progress. Without the guiding North star that is the human ability to conceptualize the future, we are just animals, existing day to day, with no real consequence or progress.

But sometimes when dreaming of the future, I forget to live in the present. When I'm thinking about what's to come, deadlines become more malleable and harder to conceptualize. I become frustrated and annoyed when faced with tasks, especially when they seem to have no immediate effect or benefit. Writing applications or essays or exams becomes tedious, because, in my head, they’re hoops to jump through to a reality that’s set in stone. But that's not the reality yet. There are still steps I need to take to get to my goals.

It reminds me of dance in a way. I'll open Instagram or some other app and watch videos. While watching, I'll feel inspired and want to try it. But Instagram doesn't show the long, arduous process of learning that skill. It skips to the good part. And, so I'll go into the studio, try the skill, and fall flat, pondering what I did wrong and overtaken by the sensation of not being good enough. Never mind the fact that I've never trained that skill or am not strong enough yet. Forget that loss of respect for the process and progression.

The poet, William Martin, writes:

“Do not ask your children

to strive for extraordinary lives.

Such striving may seem admirable,

But it is the way of foolishness.

Help them instead to find the wonder

and the marvel of an ordinary life.

Show them the joy of tasting

tomatoes, apples and pears.

Show them how to cry

when pets and people die.

Show them the infinite pleasure

in the touch of a hand.

And make the ordinary come alive for them.

The extraordinary will take care of itself.”

I don't think the lesson here is to not strive for better, but there's a danger in the constant need to reach for the imagined greatness of the future. Grounding myself in the present can be a harsh necessity. Taken in the bite-size steps that are more representative of the process, the journey to my future feels like a slow, drop-wise slog toward a goal that feels further out of reach with every step I take. But there's some solace to find in that slowness. There's peace to be found in the calm and quiet. Remembering to live in the present reminds me that I should do the activities I enjoy now, not necessarily the tasks that check off a list. Finding purpose in the present allows me to make a difference now, instead of waiting for the future. It lets me find fulfillment in every moment, to find "the wonder and the marvel of an ordinary life."