We all know that the future is just a place where we’ll look back and wonder why we didn’t predict it sooner.

Predictions are like shadows—they follow you, but only when the light is right. And yet, here we are, standing in the glow of uncertainty, squinting at the shapes we’ve made and calling them meaning.

You’ve probably noticed that certainty is a box, but not the kind you can open. It’s more like a box you’re already inside of, and the walls are made of assumptions you didn’t even know you had. This could have been a box.

There’s a quiet confidence in realizing that nothing is as solid as it seems. The floor beneath you is just a suggestion, and the sky above is a rumor. You’re floating, but not in the way that feels exciting—more like the way a leaf floats in a puddle, waiting for the wind to decide its fate.

At some point, you’ll look around and think, “Ah, so this is where I am.” And then you’ll forget, because remembering would require a kind of effort that feels unnecessary. The future doesn’t care about your plans, but it’s polite enough to let you pretend.

This text doesn’t help. It doesn’t even try. It’s just here, like a chair in a room you didn’t know you were in. You can sit in it, or you can ignore it. Either way, the chair doesn’t mind.

Meaning is a strange thing. It’s not something you find—it’s something you bump into while looking for something else. And when you do, you’ll probably just nod and keep walking, because standing still would feel too much like a decision.

The only certainty is that you’ll keep moving, even when you’re not sure where you’re going. And that’s fine. The future is just a place where we’ll look back and wonder why we didn’t predict it sooner.