Sometimes I wonder what my life will be like in a year. In two years. In five years. In thirty years. Mostly I wonder about that at times like this when I have a million other things I should be doing (not least of which is going to bed).
Where will I be next year? Will I be in grad school getting my PhD? Will I be working any job that pays the bills while I spend time figuring out what I really want my world to look like? Will I be overseas? Will I be in Des Moines? Will I be happy? Will I have my friends back in person to drink cheap wine with? Who from the past two years of my life will stay a part of it? Where is my life headed? Because it is headed somewhere fast. And I have to go with it.
Do I want to live abroad? Spend my time volunteering in Sierra Leone? Try to get a job with the embassy? Move to Korea or China and immerse myself in sandlewood and jiaozi and thin mattresses?
Do I want to go to seminary, like I thought I would all those years ago? I still remember a smaller, younger me with dark heavy bangs and a sky-themed outfit rattling off my plans to be in love with communion and baptism and the all the other sacraments forevaaa.
Do I want to keep studying? Will I take the chance on another post-graduate degree? Will I be given the opportunity? What will it lead to? And where will it be? Do I head back to the small, dusty, burnt-orange couches of the social science halls? To the comfort of a small cohort, a personal touch? Or do I move toward the modern buildings? The glassy atriums and colloquiums and research presentations? Do I network or do I teach? Do I even have a choice?
What will my future bring me? And how do I start preparing? Who am I going to be? Or, rather, what form will the me thats always been take under a new direction?
Maybe, more importantly, what does my present look like? What do I do now? I’ve heard that I’m not supposed to worry about tomorrow.