Why Time Will Not Define Me — Shattering The Temporal Grasp And Experiencing Present Reality

Dates on a calendar, digits in the time, eras, and ages alike — their influence permeated my actions and identity. But I choose to believe none.

On The Clock

Life has revolved around time. It’s the structure of society, after all. From the second I was born, a clock began to tick down. The seconds counted down the minutes, the minutes counted down the hours.

The clock ticked down the days I had left.

There was a schedule. Get ready, go to school at 8. The class ends at 10, then recess for 20 minutes. More classes, then lunch, until we’re dismissed at 3.

With this came the associations. Breakfast is 8, dinner is 6. The morning is 7 to 11, while the evening is 4 to 6. It’s late past 10, and one should go to sleep then.

The holiday spirit of December, with the cold winter winds. Or a hot summer July, coming before a fall semester. A blooming spring in 2012, to the falling leaves in 2021.

In many ways, time is the foundation of my life itself. Just about everything was organized around this concept conceived by humanity. But then the associations began to permeate further.

It began to introduce… less desirable effects.

And when time seized control, my peril arose.

Fundamental Units

The infection began in the scope of seconds, minutes, and hours. I became inundated with this necessity to optimize — to be the utmost productive, and not waste a single moment of life.

Like a machine, forcing myself to move as fast as possible, zipping and whooshing in my mind. I had to have the next action queued in my mind, so I could execute it with minimal transitional delay.

It became a stark pressure, a constant race against this invisible clock weighing over me. Slide down the stairs twist and position the water bottle and twist it shut while doing a 180-degree turn and get back in your room immediately.

No time for even commas.
Every action became akin to that.

Then an obsession with an absolute adherence to the schedule. Whenever I left for school, I stared at my watch for the exact moment the time hit 8:32, to align my arrival perfectly with the start of the first period.

Never mind I could just leave earlier and save the stress, because there was the stress of waiting around awkwardly. 8:32 on the dot, ready to rush out the door when the pistol fired. Not a second earlier, nor later.

It was a hold I could not break. From this system that dictated life.

And yet, there was a discrepancy. The future crawled closer to the present, paralyzing me with apprehension. If a doctor’s visit was at 3, I’d spend 8 to 2 fretting and mentally preparing.

A test at 11 erased 7–10. A 5 o’clock meeting rendered the morning and afternoon unusable. The schedule was overwritten with one event — harrowing over what was yet to come.

What more time I had, the less I could use.

Later down the line, as I attempted my endeavors, I hit impasses and roadblocks. I was lent time that went to waste, with no progress made. So the clock demanded the loan back — with interest.

Three hours spent with only a few words written. Two scenes were done, but I should’ve been at number 4. I should’ve studied more, and worked on that project faster.

So the next time, I would pay double.

But the interest kept accumulating, and the methods failed to work. And I chased my neverending trail of time debt, as it ran away from me. Throughout the hours, the weeks, and the days — hope only grew further.

The scope grew larger, to these days. On a Saturday morning, I was fixated on the impending reset of the week. Two days — one and two, and it was back to school or work.

As a result, leisure became a necessity, and a job in of itself. I had to make the most of this fleeting time to recover and brace. But of course, that only did the opposite. I only dreaded what was coming.

I couldn’t relax, and so I became frustrated over why I couldn’t. Monday would come in the blink of an eye, leaving me to wonder where the time went.

That, I’d have to make up for tomorrow.

The domain zoomed out to the years, passing me by as I was stuck in agony. I was now a legal adult. Then I was of drinking age, though I stuck to water. And then I aged more, all while I recalled how behind I was.

Already beginning my twenties, it was too late for me to accomplish anything. And if I did, well, it was expected at this age. What made me so special? I should’ve done everything years ago for it to mean anything.

All I could do was wallow in the desolation, knowing my time had expired. As I played this neverending game of catchup, the goalposts only moved further.

“People my age” — my generation, were simply lost causes.
But beneath all, was me.

Deeper into darkness. Further into despair. Projections and outlooks on the future only growing grimmer, with separation and chasms growing wider by the day.

More extreme, more dangerous. My thoughts spiraled downward into the depths of hell. I was alone, I was useless, I was a demon — burn in hell.

There was no hope. No point in living. My time was up.

A Future Long Past

In one of my earliest writings here, I described a phenomenon I experienced where the present felt like the distant future. In particular, the year 2021 conjured these feelings.

Flying cars, magical technology, and dystopic ambiance. That was my vision for the year 2021. It didn’t seem real, nor possible, that those digits represented the “now.”

But that was reality. And it dawned upon me how much time had gone ahead without me.

I’d lived the majority of my conscious life in the 2010s then, but I didn’t think of it. In the “late 2000s,” I was hardly cognizant of what year it was, let alone the concept of an era.

When I heard the phrase “10 years from now, ” the “2020s” never came to mind — I wasn’t aware of such a concept. “Ten years” went in one ear and out the other, because I had no frame of reference.

So perhaps after the clock struck midnight, the decade rolled over, and the “1” in the tens flipped over to a “2,” it slowly set in. That every experience from my life then no longer existed in the present.

My world had passed. It was a new one now.

As I progressed into legal adulthood, I experienced psychological and physiological changes alike. I could see no cause, and I concluded this was simply what it felt like to age.

But with that fell the last bastion of hope. There was no longer anything to look forward to. Everything would only get worse, as the remnants of childhood faded away.

I would have to face what was deemed “reality.”
And the numbers marched on. ’21. ’22. ‘23.

Amid this worst period in my life, I began to lose sense of everything. I felt as though I were mindlessly autonomous, unable to feel or think anymore. Eventually, I lost track of time entirely.

I often forget what day of the week it is. When it was December, the visions of Christmas and snow hardly appeared. Hell, there was some heat even, so it almost felt like June.

The connotations and associations fell away. It was no longer a Saturday in January, but the emptiness of a neverending now. It was painfully hollow.

But perhaps this was the moment I was free.

Definitions

Does time define me, or do I define my time? That’s something I’m beginning to question. What exactly dictates what time should or should not be?

I foresaw the future as an enigma. After all, we’re in a rapidly changing world, where obsolescence is only months away. The moment I turned 18, was when my time in the spotlight was over.

The world’s focus would shift to the new, leaving me behind. Soon, I wouldn’t understand a thing. The future was coming, and everything I once lived would be lost.

But in the present year of 2024 A.D., I’ve encountered many contradictory occurrences. And I’ve come to a surprising realization.

It’s the realization of how much has remained the same.

Nearly 10 years have passed since I first entered high school. And yet, when I walk around the neighborhood, I still hear students conversing in the same teenage cadence I heard when I was that age.

I attended another’s graduation a few years back, and I remember finding the utmost humor in the valedictorian’s words, because she was speaking in a distinct “high school speech” way.

There’s no way to describe it in words, but it always sounds like they’re reciting a limerick a little too joyfully. “We ^laughed and >cried…” And I remember hearing that way of speech 10 years ago too. If you know, you know.

There’s a tour guide reciting facts about the mountains, and a cool corporate worker. And there are ducks in the pond — in the year 2024. These animals and people still exist.

They haven’t changed since 2014, and probably haven’t since 4,000 B.C. They still quack and honk, and seek food. They’re the same bird now they were then.

The conceptions ingrained as I grew up, paired with a barraging assault of sensationalism throughout the internet, overloaded my senses to the point of frying my circuitry. “LIFE IN THE FUTURE. YOU WON’T BELIEVE.”

It was a world I could never imagine acclimating to. One that had moved on without me, beyond my understanding. Discarding the old in favor of the new.

Me, of course, slowly transforming into the former. So I lost hope.

Zooming out one last time brings me to the sky-high scope of generations, and probably the most egregious of these temporal definements. It’s a war fought since the beginning of society — between the old and the new.

Disdain for the older generations, discarding them as outdated. And constant complaining of the younger generation for so-called insolence and laziness. Just putting humanity into boxes like Pokemon.

*nasal voice* Introducing ~*Gen Z*~, the techy quirky frickity frack-.

Hilariously, I remember when I was younger, I tried to cope with the fact I might be Gen Z. With all the negative stereotypes, I kept Googling to see if the year 2000 could technically count as a millennial.

Now, I’ve fully accepted my affiliation. I am 100%, unequivocally, part of Generation Zed. But that means nothing, let alone changes anything about my life.

When I was in high school, I already felt alienated from my peers. People were talking like “lowkey” this and “highkey” this. I just didn’t understand. And I’ve only gotten more dizzy in the years since… “based…” “lit…” “rizzing…” WHAT DOES IT MEAN?!

Well, I know what the words mean, but they were never in my verbal lexicon. Hell, some of the words I think of are decades outdated.

“Ain’t that a bunch of malarkey?“

The only stereotype I can relate to is the social media thing. I was indeed moronic on the internet. Did some embarrassing, and some outright deleterious stuff.

I made a lot of mistakes and got sucked into chronic onlineness. It was a snowball effect. In hindsight, it’s crazy thinking how radically I changed for the worse with my use of it. It’s not a fond memory.

Even to this day, I’ve struggled to escape my mind. I’ve become starkly averse to online environments. I’ve at least managed to escape YouTube finally. Aside from privated camcorder footage I upload for family viewing, I never use it anymore.

Disassociation

I keep associating meaning with these units of time. Hours, weekdays, years, and ages. But as a human concept, does time have any inherent meaning beyond its constructs?

After graduating college nearly two years ago, I lost what little structure I had left from the effects of the pandemic. No hope in sight, I worked on my stuff on my own time, hardly making progress.

I eventually found an organization to contribute to and feel meaningful again, but I never needed to reimplement a schedule as it was voluntary and remote.

I just did things when I felt I could — whether a Monday morning or a quarter to midnight on a Saturday. In the same vein, I had no qualms about doing nothing on a Wednesday, though it wasn’t preferable.

It was this where I started to question these notions. Working on weekends always had a torturous connotation, but here I was doing it without a care. Why did I have to relax or work on certain days?

What does a “Sunday” mean?

This extends to all aspects of time. I am 23 years old, and barrelling toward 24 by the month. Far into the adulthood I ruminated on when I was younger, I feel disassociated from this fact.

Contrary to what I thought would happen, I don’t feel like an adult. That doesn’t mean I feel like a kid, though I experience sensations reminiscent of that time. But what do these concepts feel like anyway?

In terms of my existence, I feel the same I did years ago. When I was in 6th grade, the 8th graders’ presence loomed over us. But in 12th grade, they were many years my junior.

My feelings haven’t really changed. I just feel like a… 23rd grader. College students loomed over me in high school. Now, it’s the 35th graders, and those same students feel like underclassmen.

Or that’s what I would say.

Something peculiar is happening with my perception. The difference between my age and thirty-five is 12 years, but those years feel negligible. The chasm between 2nd and 5th grade seems wider.

In school, nearly everyone was my age. I hardly had the chance to work with a variety of people, save for one or two professors. Even then, there was still that “looming” dynamic of superiority.

Adulthood was cryptic and scary as a kid. I was only meant to obey and listen to those at that stage, in fear of repercussion. But after college, I’ve finally had opportunities to collaborate as equals.

I realized the nonsense in this idea of adults being stoic, and always imposing a businesslike seriousness. It isn’t true. People still have insecurities, fears, and hopes.

Social anxiety is still a thing, and people make mistakes. They get flustered and frustrated. They still talk about fun stuff like sports or anime. They have shortcomings, and work to overcome them.

I feel mostly as I did when I was 17 or 13 — in the sense that I feel like “me.”
The main difference is, the “1” is now a “2.”

My ideals and values have drastically transformed, as with my abilities. But the way I engage with them remains unchanged. Some ideas make me uneasy, others don’t, and I act based on what feels right.

My environment is called an organization instead of a university or a school. It still has the same institutional vibe though.

This notion of a single definition for experiencing age or generations. How is it possible to paint millions under the same stroke? It only gets more ludicrous when I consider a certain fact.

As mentioned just moments ago, my values and ideals have changed over time, as have my interests and motivations. I am not a static entity, but an evolving one.

How can this notion of uniformity exist when I’m hardly even the same as myself?

While I feel the same, I can see the stark contrasts in my personality and appearance. It’s the accumulation of years of influences and factors, through many different versions of me.

The essence of this realization is the relinquishment of assumptions and expectations. These notions of authority, upper and lower, inferior or superior, have begun to vanish in my adult life, even if the labels technically persist.

I no longer feel gazed down upon — most have been brought to a level playing field. Everyone feels kid-like now, not because I think of everyone as childish, but because I lack those assumptions and barriers, just as I had when I was younger.

Josh was Josh, and Kate was Kate. And that was it.

Hell, I don’t even know what stage in life people are at. There were some I thought were my age — turns out they’re over 10 years my senior. Others worked at big companies.

There was no sense of inferiority because I wasn’t aware of their background. Even now knowing, I realize that by no means separated us when we worked together — on the same playing field.

I can finally see people for who they truly are. More importantly, I can be what I want to be.

It is a truly genuine feeling to be ridden of that imposing weight.

Whenever a holiday comes and my family gathers, there’s a 70-year age range of people who lived in different times. Silent Generation-ers, Generation X-ers, and Zoomers.

There are those from the 1930s and 40s, who lived through the Second World War. Those in the 60s and 70s witnessed the advent of modern technology. And then we in the 90s to 2000s grew up with it.

I was born in 2000. But that’s not all I was nor will be. I was a 2010s teenager, and now a 2020s adult. When Christmas day arrives, we’ll all be at the same table again.

Living in the present, all as 2024 human beings.

The notions I was inundated with obscured this fact. At every moment, I was reminded about differences and change. The horrors of the old that no longer existed in the new world, a cynical view of the past.

You can imagine my surprise when I learned in school that artificial intelligence existed since the 1950s. The way the past was conveyed, anything before the 1980s sounded like savage-like times.

The times I lived in normalcy are getting this same treatment — the collapse into eras. The 2000s and 2010s. I lived through them. Now, they were supposedly times defined by this and that, when people only did X and Y.

Having my own life begin to have that treatment, I wonder how much of my conceptions about the past are wrong. I don’t seek to deny the darkness in history. But surely, there has to have been more than that.

The little things that made life worth living.

I grew up with and still experienced the addictive tendencies of the internet, as many others have. Perhaps the 2020s will be defined as the decade of polarization, insanity, and addiction — terrible times.

But I also experienced appreciation. I’ve experienced emotions of all sorts, a rollercoaster of progress in my endeavors. I went out to see wildlife and green hills.

I connected with people online. I tried new pursuits and watched new shows. I’ve felt horrific at the state of affairs, but at times, I’ve also felt at peace in my world.

These less-told experiences are what I’m curious about from the past. A balance of positive and negative alike.

What part of the human experience hasn’t changed? What do we still share?

Life In The Future — You Won’t Believe

I always feared the world leaving me behind. I hadn’t achieved the glory and accomplishment when it was “my time” in youth. Therefore, as I continued to progress through my 20s, my time would never come.

I had my chance but blew it. Clearly, if I’d done things right, I’d been guaranteed success. Now, the world continues to change, along with its people and attitudes. The old is discarded and replaced with the new, as is just.

But as just discussed, I realized this notion doesn’t hold true for me. I hardly understood my circumstances before. But I was able to find solace in this present, years later, in a transformed world.

The sensationalism of media, social and traditional alike, painted an absurd depiction of the future. Sterile, pristine white rooms. All about technology integration and buzzwords.

It failed to include the green grass and rolling hills. The wildlife, nature, and the feelings of being alive. The emotions and events that define a human experience.

With how media portrayed the future, I was under the notion that in 40–50 years, I’d walk up to someone decades my junior and get completely blindsided.

“Uh, excuse me young man, do you know how to use this brain interface device-”
“BORGLE BOP EWBNECWKN *VOMITS LIQUID INTO FACE*”

But in this futuristic year of 2024, I haven’t encountered that. I still hear small talk topics. I still feel emotions. And my room isn’t a pod with a robotic voice. The world remains in Technicolor, as it likely was 100 years ago.

If anything, recent advances in technology are doing away with the sterile image, as the lines between humanity and computers blur. AI-generated voices are becoming indistinguishable.

Like any tool, there’s room for positive and malicious use alike. I am eager to see what humanity can be revitalized through this — the creativity it can assist in.

There’s also a notion that later generations lose a sense of wonder, as we’re born into a status quo. For example, with someone like me, smartphones are insignificant. While I think there’s some merit to that, I don’t believe it's holistic.

Because no matter what stage I entered the world, I had to learn and discover.

3D printing was an invention created over 40 years ago. And sure, consumer-grade printers probably are only a decade or two available. I bought mine in 2021.

It was already established, but I still felt excited to try it out. I thought as a concept it was cool.

The same goes for many other ideas. Hell, electricity was utilized over 200 years ago, but it still blows my mind when I think about it. Or how about some of the mathematical theorems from hundreds, even thousands of years ago? How the hell did they figure it out?

Because of this “past is crass” notion ingrained in me, I couldn’t see the story of humanity in its entirety — not just the highs and lows dictated by one’s rendition of history. But when I stop to think about everything surrounding me, it is truly remarkable.

The very computer I type these words with. All the complex calculations, the physics (and discovering electricity is actually part of physics). Concepts I have yet to understand even after a Bachelor’s degree in the field plus a few years.

Even if I’ve lived with it most of my life, I still find it amazing.
And I still discover new things, whether years or millenia old.

I was under the notion of a world which one held ownership over. A binary focus on youthful disruption or older establishment. But as I’ve aged, I’ve had some wild realizations.

I lived in a teenager’s world through the 2010s. With my problems, my beliefs, and my attitudes. I went through triumphs and struggles alike. And I emerged into this new, post-college world.

As my age makes my perception of time speed up, months can pass seemingly instantly. The same long months that I had trudged through years ago.

It made me cognizant of the possibility the entire ordeal, to one older than me, may as well have not existed. A blink of an eye.

That entire story arc I experienced in a 30s person’s world may mean nothing, as with the attributes of my domain. How I thought I was perceived may have never existed, if I was perceived at all.

Simultaneously, someone younger than me may as well be going through a full novel and three sequels’ worth of events, emotions, and experiences — all in the blink of my own eye. It’s dizzying to conceptualize these possibilities.

I spent most of my pre-graduation life waiting for my time in the spotlight. I was always told to listen, as I didn’t know enough for this world. It’s not time, you’re not ready, you’re not good enough.

When I graduated college, the culminating moment had arrived. After 21 years of work and waiting, my time in this world would finally come.

A mere two months later, my life was already over.

It was too late for me. I was defective. There were no prospects — no future for me. I should’ve done everything already, and if I had, I would’ve had what I wanted. But now, my fate was to decay away. Just give up.

I spent my entire life waiting for my moment, my turn — my world. Only for the doors to shut the second I arrived. Or maybe the doors were never open in the first place.

Two years later, the promised entry point only grows farther behind me.

Clearly, something’s not right here.

I need to seek the world within myself. And I need to find myself in that world. I’m told the world is constantly changing, but the thing is — people do too.

Theory Of Everything

The better question to answer is, what is the world anyway? What defines this experiential domain we live in? Is that something that can be expounded at all?

As a child, I lived in a world where Santa existed. As I grew, the ultimate goal of my world was to get good grades and graduate. It was a world where the ending was predefined.

Now, those worlds don’t exist. Perhaps this “adult” world was the true reality. To think that my entire world was a lie, would make me self-conscious. But who’s to say this is the final level? Hell, I’m still yet to enter corporate, and it seems like I never will at this rate.

The days of structured learning, teachers, recess. That domain has ceased to exist for me. Yet at the same time, someone born in 2013 is experiencing that world now — albeit in a slightly different form.

I harrowed over many things with fear and apprehension. It defined my thoughts of my world. How dangerous and scary it was. But when I was able to escape, I no longer thought about them. Hence, the world didn’t seem so bad anymore.

Does that mean that world doesn’t exist? Have they just never existed?

In this search for a universal truth, I’ve been under this notion of a single definition of the world. Whenever that notion changed, I was made to believe my former preconception was incorrect. This was only exacerbated by increasing polarization in recent times, and the demeanment of personal experiences.

But maybe it wasn’t necessarily a shift from wrong to right, but one to another. Perhaps both were true existences in reality.

I think I’m beginning to believe in the theory of the multiverse. Not literally like, “The aliens are coming maaan~.” The idea of multiple personal worlds in one — coexisting together.

These ideas I’ve internalized accentuated differences defined by time, which I now refute. I’ll elaborate with a horrible video game analogy since I’m apparently a techy techy Gen Z archetype.

I want to think of the world as a server for an open-world sandbox. When my predecessors started their playthrough, things were different. They built stuff like mob farms or transportation. And maybe the game as a whole received a few updates.

When I joined the server, my experience was different. A lot more quality of life features. Some challenges were nerfed and made easier, but there are also newer, difficult ones that have yet to be seen by even the veterans.

Cringing by now? Too bad, there’s still more horrific comparisons.

The core mechanics largely remain the same though, as with the progression. Childhood innocence, beginning to learn. Hard revelations and setbacks, overcoming obstacles, to strive for meaning. Connection, humanity, and discovery in finding one’s truth.

Even if these cycles somehow vanish, I’d like to believe the thoughts and emotions these experiences evoked will persevere — just in a different form.

The numerals make it easy to see time as linear and consecutive, preceding one inherently “better” and following another “worse.” But I want to view life as distinct circumstances in parallel. And so if I were to collapse the 4th dimension of temporality, the measuring stick indicating my time would appear alongside all others.

I exist as a session on this planet, as me. All possible versions of me move through that present like a multi-dimensional film tape, and through the Observer Effect, collapse into the single existence I assume now.

Therefore, humanity is not a staggered presence on a timeline, but many concurrent experiences in this shared space we call the universe. As for how far along one is, it’s simply relative to their tape.

I want to know what my next frame is. But it’s pointless to ponder what I can’t foresee.

Adapting To Now

The world may continue to change. But so will I. When the pandemic hit, everything changed. Human connection was lost, replaced with screens. Everywhere was a biohazard zone, with surgical masks galore.

When I got COVID last December, my own home transformed into a ward. It was a rough two weeks that became normalcy. Soon, sickness receded, and the original life now felt out of place. But I got back into the groove once more with time.

I’ve witnessed countless times the adaptability of humanity, which starkly contrasts this idea of static identity in time.

I think of everything that’s changed and will continue to change. But I will be different too, and find a way to settle into the new normal. That does not reprieve me of my ability to appreciate the status quo though.

I have to think about change in terms of reality, not sensation. So-called AI is the hot topic of today, so I suppose that’s where most of my examples are sourced from.

I’ve used some generative tools. By doing so, I’ve found wonder and awe, but also a bit of disillusion seeing the limitations. When prompts don’t follow correctly, or generated content is warped, messed up, or incorrect.

I think about the change that’s brought through these. Once again, that image of a complete transformation comes to mind — “borgle bop” alien language.

But while it’s impressive these aspects can be mimicked by machines now, the concepts themselves are still quite understandable. Natural speech, writing, and creativity. They aren’t esoteric.

And so I think about all I was made to believe I wouldn’t believe nor understand. A world where machines and technology rule, or where currency doesn’t exist. Or whatever other predictions there are about the future.

Thinking about it again, it’s not an incomprehensible notion. A world without currency — I walk up to a store, ask for something, they give it to me, and I leave. That’s a world without currency. Not the most convoluted image to imagine.

A world where technology rules — well, I’m living in that world right now. The psychological hacking of social media and algorithms. It sounds like a sci-fi film. And I suppose it’s crazy when you think about it.

But I’ve lived in it this entire time, just managing the present.

“You won’t believe this world, where subconscious mind control exists! Where the world is locked down!”

Now, when I hear of these things, the “what the heck” response within me is muted. There’s no longer a fear to adapt and understand, or be left behind.

Perhaps language adapts. One says “super” in 2004, another says “hella” in 2015. It’s not unintelligible. Meaning is retained and language still serves a purpose.

I will undoubtedly make it on the ride into the future, as long as I’m alive. Feeling the impact not in terms of dread, but in wonder.

“Life on Mars, you won’t believe!” But the only thing separating our understanding is a single reality. It’s really not so far-fetched to imagine, nor adapt to.

I can instead focus on the obstacles in the present, solving and navigating what’s in front of me. Whether on Earth, or another planet. Focusing on the true human experience that defines me.

There’s no need to be afraid. No point in predicting the future.
Why do I need to, when I can cultivate and shape it instead?

The Future At Present

Nearly 10 years have passed since I moved away from my hometown. Fifteen since those early childhood memories I’ve had. My home has transformed in many ways.

It blows my mind to see date ranges that don’t include the 20th century or the 2000s anymore. A restaurant established in 2021, or events from 2019–2023.

But it’s not all drastic. In 2024, I see these changes. Businesses that have been replaced. A fresh coat of paint, a colored roadway, and an added street sign. A new awning replaced the faded one over the supermarket.

It’s different. But the sky’s still blue. The fog still passes through. And the pigeons haven’t stopped flying around.

The 1990s are now 30+ years ago as opposed to 20. It feels so close, but at the same time, it now feels like history akin to how the 1960s did — a sense of feeling far away. But funnily enough, the 2010s feel like the 90s in that regard, of being not that long ago.

Things shifted and moved on. But they were replaced by others.

I feel that same sense looking back at my videos from last year. Two years past the future I once dreaded. Now, I feel the same way about 2023 that I did about my childhood in 2009 or 2012.

It’s the feeling of uncertainty and unknowns, collapsed into a definite occurrence in time. Despite the difficulties of the pandemic and post-graduation world, I look back upon it with comfort — of a time that once was, that is no longer of worry.

I walk down the street in a different era and town, yet it feels like childhood for a moment. The fullness of the buildings. A lack of barrages of negative thought. Just seeing what’s in front of me.

Of course, I am different. I’m desensitized, broken, and disillusioned. My perception feels as though I’m in a mirage oftentimes. But I was able to relive those feelings from fifteen years ago again, that I just can’t describe.

I waited my entire life so far for my time to come. But it never did, and likely never will. I was inundated with claiming that time, but it never existed.

I spent every second harrowing over time wasted. Only for days and months to slip away. I took summer courses in college to graduate on time — and claim the only chance in the spotlight I’d get.

Only to end up nearly two years unemployed and counting, with everything I do feeling worthless and futile. Those years were for nothing, it seems.

Nothing came to fruition. It was all for naught. And the world now has moved past me. It’s long past a 23-year-old, 2022 graduate’s world for the taking.

I missed my boat. So I thought.

Because I heard of these other stories challenging the notion of defined timeframes. The success stories that happened at 50 or 60, or grandparents in their 80s taking on new endeavors.

By my notions, I should be judgemental. I’ve been judging myself as too late ever since I was 17. So by my definition, these accomplishments by others aren’t worth anything either.

It’s a terrible thing to think, which is why I don’t believe it. Yet the same doesn’t apply to me for some reason. For the umpteenth time, I’m telling myself I must make it by some arbitrary date.

That deadline was 2018 — now it’s 2025.
When I inevitably miss it, it’ll shift to 2026. Then 2028.

Do it by then, or die in uselessness. Rot away in the new world.

I read these stories of those who started past mid-age. Way past the “supposed to” years I supposed for myself. Yet I still felt a sense of longing for what they had.

That’s when I realized. I don’t actually give a crap about when I quote-unquote make it.

I just want it to happen. To have that status behind me at last.

I look back at what once was the future. The year 2020, and the projects that came out then. To me, I thought if I did anything then, I was at least 8 years too late.

Yet in 2024, I look at those projects by others and don’t think that. They’re cool and established to me.

An endeavor in 2026 sounds late to me. But in 2028, it will be the same as one in 2018… done. An uncertain future collapsed into a definite event. One that has now passed.

2019 has passed. But 2029 will be the new 2019, just as 2009 will be the new 1999. A sliding window of past, present, and future, that ultimately ends in death.

By then, time will mean nothing to me.
Left behind, there will only be what was.

I’d like to believe the world remains the same. Not entirely, but in many ways. A continuous, iterating loop. What’s different is the role I assume in it, and the perspectives I inherit from them.

From the newcomer student to the ambitious college grad, and eventually, the cool and collected senior. The guy on his laptop in the library, to the videographer filming the scenery. Or an awkward nerd.

I’m beginning to believe no matter how much time passes, these archetypes live on in some shape or form.

Having said all that, what will life decades in the future look like?

The obvious answer is, I don’t know, and it’s pointless to think about anyway.

I recall seeing someone mention this humorous German newspaper with the headline — “LIFE IN THE YEAR 2000,” and it was just a couple of grandmas doing ordinary stuff.

I searched but couldn’t find it. I really want to see it, if anyone knows, please pass me a link.

So if I had to guess, I imagine the future looks something like this.

Blue skies and grassy parks. People walking their barking dogs, talking about their latte, and laughing. Maybe a few more autonomous delivery drones than now. The wind will blow against you, giving you chills.

Kids will go to school and learn about math and science, just as I did in the 2010s. A teacher will talk jovially as I heard during my time there, and get frustrated when they don’t settle down.

Maybe there’s new subjects in quantum mechanics or the effects of technology on the human mind. To learn about the struggles and mistakes of those living in the 2020s and 2030s.

Some tour guides will be spouting facts about the mountains. About how this tree grew since 2014, or this rock formation collapsed in 2026. Lions and bears will keep roaming the land.

Maybe I can finally take a trip to space for under $400,000 in the year 2047. As for what it’ll look like — probably just like the starry sky I can see now, but a million times better. With lower gravity and a blue marble outside the window.

Hopefully, food service will be provided. I’d like my favorite foods — chow fun, Peking ribs, and rice cake. Maybe a pizza too. Foods that still exist 23 years later, and are just as delicious.

As I peer out that window, I’ll ponder about the same topics. I’ll feel emotions, as will everyone else on (or off) the planet. Ruminating on everything I’ve gained... and lost.

I’ll think about what’s next for this 46-year-old in life. Simultaneously, a teenager born in 2030 will worry about college and existential questions, as I did before.

The purpose of this neverending chase, to feel our time here was worthwhile.

Whatever I choose, however long I take, it won’t be too late. My time will be then, as it is now, as it has been my entire life. A fact I was convinced otherwise and waited in agony for ages.

The world will be mine, but it won’t be only mine. It’ll be my time, but not just my time. Everyone, everywhere, at at once. In this universe, we call home.

It will belong to us all, as it does now. As for me, I’ll explore this multiverse with the many worlds it has to offer, and experience my present reality — my present self.

Not as an early, nor late bloomer. Not as a Gen Z, nor someone born in 2000, or a person in my 20s. Not just as a product of the times. My thoughts and actions are my own.

I live an age-old story, as a human being that was.

No matter what, time will not define me.

I will define my time here.