MAYBE LIFE WILL FIND ME THERE

I have always been a person who thinks about tomorrow.

Sometimes, I think about it before the day is even over. I imagine the things I could become, the places I might go, the opportunities that could change my life, and the kind of future I hope to give the people I love. I have spent so much time imagining what lies ahead that I sometimes forget to appreciate the person I am today.

Perhaps that is one of the things about growing up that nobody really prepares you for. You spend your younger years looking forward to becoming someone, believing that one day everything will make sense. You imagine that life has a particular direction, that every effort will eventually lead somewhere, and that the future is simply a destination waiting for you to arrive.

I used to think that way, too.

I had so many dreams that choosing just one was never easy. I wanted to become successful, to experience things beyond the familiar corners of my world, to earn enough money to live comfortably, and most importantly, to give my mother a life where she would no longer have to worry about so many things.

I wanted to be someone she could be proud of.

Not because I needed recognition from the world, but because I knew how much it would mean to see the person I love finally enjoy the things she deserved. I wanted to reach a point where I could offer help without first checking whether I had enough for myself. I wanted to give without constantly calculating what would remain afterward.

It was a simple dream, at least when I described it in words. But dreams have a way of becoming heavier when you begin to understand what it takes to achieve them.

There was a time when the future seemed like an endless collection of possibilities. I could imagine myself doing almost anything. I believed that if I studied hard enough, worked hard enough, and remained patient, I would eventually find my place in the world.

I didn’t know then that life could be both generous and unfair. That sometimes, even when you do everything you can, the answer is still no. That there are opportunities you will have to wait for, doors that will not open immediately, and days when you will question whether you are doing enough.

But I suppose those are lessons that cannot be fully understood until you experience them yourself.

I have never considered myself someone who has everything figured out. There are moments when I feel confident about what I want, followed by moments when even the smallest decision makes me hesitate. I can be full of ideas one day and completely uncertain the next. I can imagine an entire future in my head, only to find myself wondering where I should begin.

And perhaps that is why I write.

There are things I find difficult to explain when I speak, feelings that become tangled when I try to put them into ordinary conversations, and thoughts that seem to grow louder whenever I am alone. Writing gives them somewhere to go.

Sometimes, a few sentences are enough to express what I cannot say aloud. Other times, I need entire chapters, poems, and stories just to understand what I am feeling.

I have written about people, imagined lives that never belonged to me, created characters who experienced things I could only describe through words, and built entire worlds from ideas that once existed only in my mind.

Some stories began with a simple thought. Others came from emotions I didn’t know what to do with.

There is something comforting about creating something out of nothing. You begin with an empty page, a few words, and an idea that may not even make sense yet. Then, little by little, it becomes something you can hold, something other people can read, and perhaps something they can find a part of themselves in.

I have always loved that possibility.

But while I was busy creating stories, I was also living one of my own.

It wasn’t always beautiful. It didn’t have carefully written chapters or perfectly timed plot twists. There were no guarantees that the people who entered my life would stay, that every effort would be rewarded, or that every dream would eventually come true.

There were ordinary days, repeated responsibilities, moments of excitement, disappointments I tried to hide, and little things that could change my mood without anyone noticing.

Sometimes, I laughed at things that probably weren’t even funny. Sometimes, I worried about problems that seemed too small to explain to someone else. There were days when I wanted to accomplish so much, yet I couldn’t find the energy to begin.

And there were times when I simply wanted someone to tell me that everything would eventually be alright.

I didn’t always ask for help. Sometimes, I would search for answers on my own, try different things, make mistakes, and ask questions until something finally made sense. I wanted to learn, even when I felt embarrassed about not knowing something. I wanted to improve, even when I wasn’t sure whether I was making progress.

Perhaps I was more afraid of remaining in the same place than I was of making mistakes.

I didn’t want my life to become a series of things I wished I had tried.

Still, I knew that wanting something and being able to achieve it were two very different things.

There were limitations I couldn’t simply wish away. There were responsibilities that reminded me that not every decision could be made according to what I wanted. And there were dreams that required resources, opportunities, and circumstances I didn’t always have.

Yet, I kept imagining.

I imagined the day I would finally earn my own money without having to depend on anyone. I imagined receiving good news after waiting for so long. I imagined being able to buy something for my mother simply because I wanted to, not because I had carefully saved for weeks to afford it.

I imagined traveling somewhere new, meeting people whose lives were different from mine, and discovering that the world was much bigger than the things I had become accustomed to.

I even imagined falling in love.

Not the kind of love that exists only in stories, although I have always been fond of those, but something genuine. Something that would not require me to question every little gesture or search for hidden meanings in ordinary conversations. I wanted to experience the kind of affection that felt natural, where I could be myself without wondering whether I was asking for too much.

But love, like everything else, was another part of life I had yet to understand.

I had my own memories, feelings, and moments that I carried quietly. Some were beautiful enough to make me smile whenever I remembered them. Others reminded me that not everything we feel is meant to become something we can keep.

I was learning that a person could mean something to you without becoming a permanent part of your life.

And perhaps that was alright, even if accepting it wasn’t always easy.

When I look back, I realize that the girl I used to be had so many expectations. She wanted to grow up quickly, experience the world, accomplish something meaningful, and become someone who could look at her life without wondering what went wrong.

I wish I could tell her that growing up would not be as simple as she imagined.

I would tell her that there would be days when she would feel behind, even when she was doing her best. I would tell her that some people would misunderstand her, that some dreams would change, and that she would eventually discover how exhausting it could be to keep hoping when nothing seemed to happen.

But I would also tell her not to lose her imagination.

Because even after all the uncertainties, I still have dreams.

They may look different now. Some have become smaller, while others have grown into something I never expected. I no longer believe that everything has to happen according to a particular timeline. I am beginning to understand that life is not a race in which everyone receives the same starting point or reaches the same destination.

Some people find their direction early. Others spend years searching for it.

And some of us are still standing somewhere in between, trying to understand what comes next.

I think I am one of them.

I am no longer the little girl who believed that tomorrow would automatically be better than today. But I am not yet the woman I hope to become, either.

I am somewhere between those two versions of myself.

I am still learning. Still making mistakes. Still hoping. Still trying to find opportunities that will allow me to build the life I have imagined for so long.

And if there is one thing I have learned from carrying so many dreams, it is that I don’t have to reach all of them today.

Perhaps I only need to keep moving, even if the steps are small.

Perhaps I need to stop being so impatient with a life that is still unfolding.

After all, I have spent so many years imagining tomorrow. Maybe it is time to give today a chance, too.

I don’t know exactly where I will end up. I don’t know which dreams will come true, which people will remain, or how many times I will have to begin again.

But I know that there are still things I want to experience, words I want to write, places I want to see, and people I want to make happy.

There is still so much of life I haven’t lived.

And maybe that is enough reason to keep going.

For now, I will let tomorrow remain a little mysterious.

I will continue writing, continue dreaming, and continue finding my way, even when the road ahead is not entirely clear.

Because somewhere in this wide and unpredictable world, there might be a version of life that I have been waiting for all along.

And maybe, one day, I will finally find myself there.