How Much of Tomorrow Are You Carrying Today?

There are things we want badly enough that we are prepared to wait for them.

A better life.
Financial security.
A home of our own.
Success in something we have worked on for a very long time.

Sometimes we are not even pursuing these things entirely for ourselves. We want them for the people we love.

And there is nothing particularly wrong with any of that.

But I wonder if there comes a point when, without realising it, we begin living more of our lives in tomorrow than we do in today.

I had a conversation this morning that made me think about this.

I have been pursuing a number of business opportunities for some time. Some are potentially very substantial. If even one of them succeeds, it could materially change our circumstances.

But they haven’t.

Not yet.

My wife asked me a very simple question.

“Is any of it real?”

I knew exactly what she meant.

Were the opportunities real? Probably.

Were the people real? Yes.

Was the potential real? Perhaps.

But had anything actually happened?

No.

So that was my answer.

“No.”

And I felt frustrated.

But underneath the frustration was something else.

I felt guilty.

Why guilty?

Because this wasn’t simply another business opportunity that hadn’t worked out.

For a long time I have been trying to make up some lost ground.

Not because I particularly need to prove anything to anyone. I have had success before. I know what that feels like.

What I want now is much simpler.

I want some stability.

I want to know that the person I share my life with is secure. I want a settled life for her and, if I am being fair, for myself as well.

So I keep trying.

And that is where things become complicated.

Because the person beside you wants the same outcome.

She wants you to succeed. She wants the stability that success might bring. She isn’t asking you to give up.

But she also sees something you don’t always see while you’re busy pursuing it.

She sees the waiting.

Another opportunity. Another promise. Another delay. Another person who was going to call. Another transaction that was almost there.

And eventually she asks:

“How long does this go on?”

And somewhere inside yourself another question immediately answers it.

“What is the alternative?”

Do I stop trying?

Do I decide that this is as good as life is going to get and simply accept it?

Do I abandon opportunities that genuinely could change our circumstances because they haven’t happened quickly enough?

That doesn’t feel like an answer either.

So perhaps the choice isn’t between trying and giving up.

Perhaps there is another choice.

To continue trying — but stop carrying the outcome around with you every day.

That sounds simple enough.

I’m not sure it is.

If something matters to you, how do you simply decide not to care whether it happens?

I don’t think you can.

Nor am I convinced you should.

Hope is part of the reason we keep going. Take away the belief that tomorrow might be different and you may also take away much of the reason for doing anything about tomorrow today.

Perhaps the problem isn’t hope.

Perhaps it is expectation.

Hope says, this could happen.

Expectation quietly changes that to, this should happen.

And then, without noticing, perhaps we take it one step further.

This needs to happen.

That’s when tomorrow begins taking possession of today.

A telephone call doesn’t come when expected and we’re frustrated.

Someone doesn’t answer an email and it occupies our thoughts.

Something that appeared close suddenly moves further away and our mood changes with it.

Nothing has actually been taken away from us. We never had it.

But emotionally, somehow, it feels as though we have lost something.

I realised something else this morning.

After our conversation I took my blood pressure. It was higher than usual.

My wife looked at the reading and asked:

“Are you upset with the way things are going?”

I don’t know whether my blood pressure had anything whatsoever to do with how I was feeling.

But her question stopped me.

Because apparently what I thought I was carrying largely within myself wasn’t quite as invisible as I imagined.

And perhaps that is another cost of carrying tomorrow around with us.

The people beside us sometimes have to carry a little of it too.

So what is the alternative?

I don’t think it is to stop trying.

I am certainly not ready to do that.

There are still things I want to achieve. There is still lost ground I would like to recover. There is still a more settled life I would like to create for the person I love and for myself.

And I will continue working towards it.

But perhaps I need to stop making today’s peace dependent upon tomorrow’s success.

There will always be another telephone call I am waiting for.

Another email that hasn’t been answered.

Another opportunity that looks promising.

Another disappointment.

And, hopefully, some successes amongst them.

I can influence some of those things.

Others are completely outside my control.

Perhaps wisdom isn’t knowing how to control them.

Perhaps it is knowing which is which.

Today happens to be Friday.

Later, my wife and I are going to IKEA for lunch. It’s something we do fairly regularly. Afterwards we’ll probably wander through the charity shop next door and look at a great many things we have absolutely no need for.

Nothing particularly remarkable will happen.

No life-changing transaction.

No great achievement.

Probably not even a decent investment opportunity amongst the second-hand furniture.

But we’ll have lunch.

We’ll talk.

We’ll probably laugh about something.

And for an hour or two, none of the things I am waiting for will matter very much.

I will still want them tomorrow.

I just don’t need them to enjoy today.

Perhaps that’s the balance.

Hope belongs to tomorrow.
Life belongs to today.

And perhaps the trick is not to sacrifice one for the other.

A conversation shouldn’t be one-sided.

You may agree with some of this, disagree completely, or have an experience of your own to share. Either way, I’d be interested to hear what you think.

That’s another conversation.