Tomorrows

Growing up was never supposed to happen to me. It’s for people in stories, convenient movie timing, but never for me. Time passes, that’s undeniable, but I suppose I’ve always assumed that something would happen in the fuzzy time between now and then to keep me from entering the mysterious future.

It’s not the strangest notion, and books, movies, and television certainly don’t do much to discourage the idea. For characters, the story doesn’t go on. At an appropriate moment, the writer pens their last word and the tale is over. There is no more story. But in ‘real life,’ the story never ends. Tomorrow will always arrive on schedule, regardless of what happened today. New problems crop up like so many weeds, and don’t even have the decency to wait until we’ve finished with the last.

Whatever I do today will still be there in the morning when I wake up. No storybook fairy godmother is going to tap my troubles in the night with her magic wand and make them disappear. It’s not that easy. Our problems are our own to bear.

Then again, time is opportunity. No matter what awful thing has been done today, tomorrow presents a second chance. Tomorrow will never go away and leave me without the opportunity of resolution.

Time is scary. The choice and opportunity it presents intimidate all but the foolishly over confident, and my imagination works against me as it compares my limited time to unlimited opportunity. A large part of me sees that I had better make what decisions I have carefully, and the one afraid of failure balks.

But then a quiet corner of my head sends a whisper. Choice leaves the possibility for both positive and negative results. No choice will insure only failure and regrets. Is that what I want?

No. I thank that little whisper; it keeps me from giving into fear. It will teach me not only to accept whatever comes my way but also to grasp and appreciate each as opportunity. Tomorrow might intimidate, but that is only because I cannot tell the future. I stand on the edge of today, and the only way to see through the mist between here and tomorrow is to trust and step forward.

Maybe I should be glad books only imitate life. As much as I’ve done in my life so far, I need more material to make anything other than a vaguely entertaining chapter-book. Only the days of my life limit the number of pages I write, and with no end looming in view, I’m free to jump into any interesting conflict that catches my eye. Each day is an opportunity, an unexpected gift of bonus time on which a new layer of experience is added. I have to face that endless possibility, no matter how scary it is. We all do. Because while disappointment, fear, and pain will surely be a part of my life, they will not compare to the friendships and love I’m sure to find along the way.