I often used to wonder why people said they cried when they moved somewhere new. Now, I get it. I just had my first good cry since coming to Los Angeles.
I spend a lot of time worrying about my future, and I spend a lot of time, as David Foster Wallace would say, not writing, but “worrying about not writing.” I also worry about not having writing material. I also worry about using the letter “I” rather than my actual eyes. Anxiety seems to be a theme, no?
People never practice what they preach, but then again maybe they preach it in the hopes that some day it will become one of their practices. In which case, I have a quote for you from one of my favorite poets, Wislawa Szymborska (what a name, right? say it out loud, I dare you). She wrote,
“When I pronounce the word Future, the first syllable already belongs to the past.”
It’s from a a poem called “Three Oddest Words.” I could never write something so profound. But to me, it means that life passes quickly, that the future is just a word and notion, and the more we worry about it the more it dwindles away, the more we have wasted of it.
All this careful planning, all the degrees, the internships, and we can only hope it all will matter when the future becomes the past.