The life you want tomorrow
Inertia — 201
“We are the choices we make. And have to make. We aren’t anything else.”
— Patrick Ness
I took a break last week to focus fully on a dream of mine come true. Our first home. The distinct serenity from a space that speaks of dreams materialised. Hard work and a lucky chance. On a few occasions since, I’ve woke up, walked into the living room, and sat on the floor, mesmerised by the natural light filtering through the blinds that cast nostalgic shadows across the cream carpet. Minimalist furnishings—a plush second-hand recliner, organic green pouffes, thoughtfully placed mirrors. Calming intentionality.
This isn’t just a room; it’s a sanctuary years in the making. I’m still in a jungle of emptyish boxes and bags with so much to do. But I wouldn’t change it for the world right now. Every element, from the low-slung wooden TV stand housing books to the fresh flowers breathing life into the corners of our room, sends the regards of a vision finally taking physical form. The apartment tells a story of patience rewarded, and the opportunity to see through my own Pinterest board.
It feels both exactly as imagined and somehow better—because now it’s real. Immediately, it’s home. The first few days always carry a special kind of excitement. Even when exhausted from moving so much from one place to another, it doesn’t matter; every sunbeam through the window and every carefully arranged vignette feels like a quiet celebration of arrival.
The reminder or lesson learned is that life blooms in patient but deliberate strokes. Deliberate is the keyword here. Because gardeners don’t expect saplings to cast an enormous shade by tomorrow. We are architects of a future that is still a long way away. Then, at one point, today’s reality is what was once tomorrow’s dream. You sketched it in the margins of a now old notebook or in the corners of your mind. Each morning, you’d find yourself walking through doorways built with your own hands, breathing the air sweetened by flowers you planted seasons ago.
Your daily rituals now are echoes of past decisions, reverberating through time with compound interest. The coffee shop where you now write was once a pin on a map, and the friends who filled your days with laughs were once random strangers you dared to approach. Your skills that are second nature were once mountains you chose to climb. You live in a gallery curated by your younger self—so what is it you wish to see in there?
Each experience is a masterpiece commissioned by a past self. What beauty currently lies dormant? Take the time to figure that out because the life that feels like a home in five years is being blueprinted by your hands and actions today, drawn in small ink. It pays to live your reality consistently because you’ll get to the part where everything you see now was pre-paved by you many years ago.