We’re in a story we’ll look back on.

What will your future self remember about this moment?

I’m standing in the kitchen, mixing mayonnaise and tuna in a pale-green bowl. Then I stop, spoon hovering mid-stir, and become aware of the moment in time – like a camera lens clicking into sharp focus. It’s as though I’ve stepped outside of myself, watching the scene.

I look at the kitchen surfaces. Containers and crockery line the sink-side, and I think of how they’ll soon be clean and back in the cupboards again. At some point they’ll crack, break, or fade, and then won’t be there at all. One day the granite-patterned countertops will be dust in the ground – as will the bowl currently steadied by my left hand; disintegrating into pastel-green powder like fairy dust carried away on the wind.

Such things feel permanent, commonplace, but I remind myself that change creeps past unnoticed, and we don’t see its tracks until its work is already done. That could seem a cruel trick, but perhaps it is a kindness. If we were always aware of change happening, how could we pay attention to living life?

One day, I’ll remember this as the time I used to make tuna wraps for lunch, listening to bookish podcasts as I added a lettuce leaf my mum picked from the garden. I’ll remember the exact squares of the kitchen floor that used to creak as my dad walked through, setting the kettle boiling for tea. I’ll remember how my sister was studying for her sixth-form exams, and how we both liked to wear long skirts. Perhaps in this future time, we wear them still – the same ones, even, if the seams have held. I can see myself years in the future, looking back on this moment, and remembering.

All at once, time zooms out, like a planetarium simulation showing the whole of the solar system. It’s impossible to fathom such vastness, but suddenly time seems simple. There are only three points on the timeline: beginning, middle, end.

It’s a story, and we’re part of it.

“We’re all stories in the end. Just make it a good one, eh?” – Steven Moffatt

(Thanks to ‘typicalabdullah’ on Instagram, whose post yesterday included this favourite Doctor Who quote of mine and prompted me to think further about it!)

Looking at the view around you – a wall, the horizon, a teacup, your own hands – see how it exists right now, just as it one day will in memory. I wonder…

What story will your future self remember?

P.S. This theme plays into the book I’m writing, so if you’re interested in this kind of thing, know that I’ll be sharing snippets from it in future posts!

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What does the story around you look like? Can you see yourself looking back?