the future is overrated

Twenty-four hours before our son was born, my wife bought me a $200 pair of sunglasses. She bought herself a Mickey Mouse sweatshirt and a bunch of pastries from Sweet Mandy B's.

Our future was uncertain. Induction. Delivery. Sleepless nights. How would we be as parents? How would we pay for daycare? How do I change a diaper?

With all these questions swirling around, we had no choice but to live in the moment. Enjoy the beautiful Chicago day down on Michigan Avenue. Eat, drink, and buy sunglasses.

Six months later, I took those $200 sunglasses to the United Center. The Kansas Jayhawks basketball team—my favorite team in any sport—was warming up for their Regional Final matchup against the Miami Hurricanes.

I'm watching layup lines from the 300-level seats, and I start thinking, "Oh man, how good will we be next season? What if Christian Braun comes back, and our freshmen get better? Wonder who our top recruits are..."

I reached for my phone. Googled: KU recruiting class.

There I was, my team potentially 2 hours away from the Final Four, and I'm daydreaming 200 days into the future.

When the search results appeared, it hit me like a cold shower in the middle of winter:

"I'm here at the Regional Finals, right now,

in-person. IN Chicago. This is the good part!"

That moment is just one of many from my illustrious history of NOT living in the moment. If my life had a remote control, the rewind and fast-forward buttons would be utterly worn down.

But the pause button? The one I held down for hours the day Caleb was born. That thing's in pristine condition. Rarely touched.

At least when I rewind, I experience a mixture of really good memories and a few really bad ones. But when I hit fast forward? It's only good events... that haven't even happened yet! Because everything will be amazing, you know, once I get to the future.

Which means sacrifices must be made here in the present. Oh, absolutely. "Future Me" makes sure of it, patrolling every one of "Current Me's" decisions.

For example, when I looked at those basketball tickets, Future Me had his arms crossed, head tilted to the side, giving me the McKayla Maroney not-impressed face.

$45? Do we really have $45 to spare right now? For nosebleed seats? Just watch it on TV. I mean, it's your call... just doesn't seem like the right call, that's all.

Future Me is a villain. No doubt about it. He's like a little stopwatch dictator. But, on paper, he seems like a good guy with many admirable qualities.

For instance, he hates credit debt. Hates wasted money of any kind. He's a good planner. Dreams big. Works hard, plays hard. You should see some of the houses he's looking at. Future Me has a sailboat, an RV, AND a premium Spotify subscription.

Compare that to Past Me. That guy doesn't do anything! He sits in a hot tub and presses the rewind button. Talk about glory days. That guy wears nothing but sweatpants and nostalgic t-shirts. He's got a 2008 Jayhawks National Champs t-shirt that he still wears... 14 years later!

I still remember Future Me's aggressive eye roll on that purchase.

Do we actually need a commemorative t-shirt? Really?

* * *

Alright. Back to the game. The first half wasn't looking so hot. Not a disaster—we were only down by 6—but it was bad enough that Past Me and Future Me started wrestling for the remote control.

Rewind.

Past Me: This is like when we went to the Elite 8 in St. Louis, and San Jose, and Kansas City. Every time we go, it's a disappointment. What's the common factor? That we're in the building! Stay. Home. Seriously. It's not too late. Leave! We'll still have a chance.

Future Me tackled Past Me to the ground. Wrestled the remote out of his hand.

Fast Forward.

Future Me: It's okay. Next year will be incredible. When these guys come back, and our freshmen get better...

I don't remember how I fought them off. Maybe the remote control ran out of batteries. All I remember thinking was:

"I know this doesn't look good,

but I think this is still the good part."

And boy, was I right! Next 20 minutes, Kansas transformed into a new team -- a championship team. We won the second half 47-15! Won the game, 76-50. My streak of unsuccessful trips to the Elite 8 was over. The Jayhawks were cutting down the nets, and I was there to see it.

But, as I was leaving, I reached into my sweatshirt pocket and felt no sunglasses. Uh oh. I looked under my seat. Nothing. Scanned the entire row. Nope. I went row by row, any spot I might've walked. Nothing. Nothing. More nothing.

Crap!

This always happens with expensive sunglasses. Like Jeff Foxworthy says, it's not even possible to lose a pair of cheap-o sunglasses. But once you spend $200, those shades are as good as gone.

Future Me grabbed the remote. He started painting a bleak picture of my financial future.

You screwed up, Chris. $200 sunglasses. $200! This game didn't cost us $45. Now it's almost $300! Imagine what $300 could've become in our 401k. The future is ruined!

I wrestled the remote control back and slammed the pause button.

First, I looked over at Past Me. He was devastated as if Kansas lost the basketball game.

"Hey, head up, alright? Best case scenario, sunglasses last, what, 5 years? Eventually, every pair is lost, scratched up, worn down. Unfortunately, that day came sooner than we hoped, but we still have the Michigan Avenue story. Nothing can touch that memory."

Then I turned to Future Me. This time I wasn't calm, cool, or collected. My hands were clenched into fists, and my face was as red as Bill Self's must've been at halftime.

"Future Me. That's enough. Alright? I'm living in this moment because Final Fours are rare, and I was there, so get out of my hair! Seriously, whatever you have to say, I don't care. And I don't know why I'm rhyming, but here's the deal - replacing sunglasses, that's a future problem. That's on you! I'm gonna stay right here, frozen in time."

Oh man, I was just getting started.

"And you know what, credit card debt? That's on you. Extra weight after the holidays? Deal with it, buddy. And here's the thing, even if all your future dreams do come true, it'll never be good enough. We'll need a bigger house. Bigger RV. We'll need Spotify Premium AND HBO Max. Nope. I'm not chasing the carrot anymore. This, right now, this is the good part. I'm not gonna worry about tomorrow because I don't live there. That's your problem."

Past Me gravitated behind me. He was patting me on the back, letting out "Mmmmms" and "Amens" like that one guy in the back of a church. My pulse was still through the roof. I looked Future Me square in the eyes.

"And you know what," I continued, "Caleb's infant phase was amazing. And when he was four months old, I thought, 'oh, this must be the best age,' until he was five months. And then six months. Every age is great! Yeah, it'll be cool when I can ride bikes with him, or play basketball, or introduce him to Marvel movies, but you know what, right now's pretty freaking great. This is the good part."

I was fired up. Past Me was holding me back like a good friend in a bar fight.

"Alright, reign it in, bud, reign it in," Past Me said.

I caught my breath. Chest pounding through my shirt. I looked over at the t-shirt rack.

"I'm buying that damn t-shirt," I said.

Later, when I put on my new commemorative t-shirt that I'm sure I'll wear 14 years from now, I realized what my problem has always been: I've let my view of the future be too optimistic.

That's where it gets ya. My future life was always so good that few moments in the present were ever worth pausing to live in.

But once I offloaded enough debt, and worries, and stress, and love handles, and missing sunglasses onto Future Me, well, now the future isn't so bright anymore.

The grass is greener...

On the current side.

---

Thank you for stopping by the new home of the Medium Rare blog. I hope to have new posts up every other Wednesday, plus one "Medium Rare Christianity" post the last Sunday of a month. But I tell ya, new fatherhood has drastically changed my publishing pace. So, we'll see.

One thing that always amazes me about writing is how the brain becomes a magnet during the creative process. Clips, quotes, and pop culture references show up seemingly out of nowhere. For example, I'm not a big Simpsons guy. But check out this clip that fits perfectly with the "I'll offload all my problems onto 'Future Me'" conclusion.

Have a great week, and see you next time for another Medium Rare post.