As I grow up I’ve started to tiptoe around my future. I sip my tea with the expectation that it will burn my tongue, but I never wait for the steam to go away. I see myself as the carrier of the person I am going to be, never as the person I am right now. My escape are the moments that have not yet begun, yet that uncertainty is always my demise. When I was younger I used to carry dinner discussions; “What was the best part of your day?” and “What are you looking forward to tomorrow?” As I’ve gotten older, the future is much more than the lunch I plan to pack for the next day or the celebration I’ve yet to have. My idea of the future has turned into all the things I feel I will never accomplish. My past is already set: I can’t do all the things I forgot to, I can’t change mistakes and I can’t take back what I said. But the future is always the person I’ll never be. It’s the option to create more failure, be someone I don’t know or let myself be the person I already am. It’s the opportunity to grow into all the things I let myself despise. I’ve stopped asking questions; I look forward to blowing out the fire. My future has turned into survival of the now.