A Life's Worth

I had been putting off my trip to the future for as long as I could remember. Not because I wasn’t excited to go, rather the opposite. I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted to step off of the platform into that courtyard to be momentous. Something to remember for the rest of my days, the swelling of pride, and my heart bursting out of my chest with excitement. My children and their children would see their mother, their grandmother after years of hard work pushing boundaries and forging a path in a world not made for the soft of heart. The time I spent away from them, building my fortune and my legacy, all worth it for that moment of glory.

Most people make it a yearly event, though I’m not really sure why. It cheapens it, makes it commonplace and trivial. I seem to be the only one that holds a special reverence for the future. Growing up my parents told me of a time before when you couldn’t visit yourself, your children, or family in the coming years. It seemed surreal, in school you learn about your future, your successes, and failures. Everyone can easily search for a list of their important dates and accomplishments. To not know, to live your life completely unaware of what the future holds is insanity. How would you know what ideas were worth pursuing? What choices or places to avoid? I shudder to think of how your expectations could be so thoroughly and expertly dashed.

               You might think it’s silly I’ve never been to the future since I already know how my life, my career, my family will turn out. And yes, I do know all of that on paper. The nuts and bolts of it, but the feeling of seeing my family welcome me, with love and pride is a once in a lifetime feeling. I have worked my entire life towards succeeding in business, building a home, and life grand enough to make anyone jealous. The frosting on the cake will be the moment I finally see with my own eyes the gratitude of my family after a lifetime of dedication and sacrifice.

               My last morning in the present was like any other, I woke up at 4 am to hear my cup of coffee freshly brewed and dripping. The smell of it never failed to rally my spirits, even when the day seemed insurmountable. I left the house as I always did before anyone else stirred. I find it easiest to achieve success when you start your day before anyone else. There is clarity in the quiet cool mornings before even the sun greets the day.

               There was always one person I see, my secretary Alex. She was ready with my second cup of coffee and the day's agenda. As usual, it was packed full of meetings and briefings, statistics, and figures. The sight of them soothed me. They were predictable, even in their unpredictability. Fluctuations here made sense to me in a way little else did.

               “Today's the day! Nervous?” Alex asked me.

               “Excited, more like it. 60 years leading to this moment.” I liked Alex, but the time spent on pleasantries has never interested me. There are only so many hours in the day after all. I took a quick glance over my desk, noting the important things I needed to do before embarking on my trip to the future. Last-minute calls and decisions were all that stood between me and my destiny. And like a flash, I was done. Grabbing my bag and nodding a quick goodbye to Alex, I headed to the transporter.

               I had of course paid the extra fee to cut to the front of the line, sped through security, and found myself on the platform. For a brief moment, I felt uneasy. It’s not a feeling I’m used to, and it hit me like a sack of bricks as I heard the humming of the machines ramp up. For the first time in my life, I doubted. I doubted what I would see, hear, and smell. Sure, I knew the future, but actually being in it? This must be the uncertainty my parents had lived with. But in a flash, the feeling of dread and uncertainty left me.

               I don’t know exactly what I expected to see. My understanding is that your family knows your coming and is there to greet you on your arrival. I don’t know how people celebrate in the future, balloons filled pictures of my parents’ birthdays, graduations, and retirements. I had been to very few parties in my time I must confess. I assume they hadn’t changed in spirit. Smiling faces, claps on the back and whatnot. I certainly didn’t expect to see the nothing that filled the room.

               Must have been a mix up in platforms, bureaucracy’s inefficiency is perhaps one constant no doubt. My name, in giant black letters above the transporter, however, indicated otherwise. I was in the right place. Well, the time must have gotten miscommunicated somehow. Since I hadn’t been to the future I didn’t know the value placed on timeliness here. At this point, I would have taken any explanation for a mistakenly empty room. None appeared. I will admit now I was confused more than anything, and I left the room heading to the nearest uniformed person I could find.

               “My room is empty,” I said. Getting to the point was always one of my strengths, and I expected to have a quick and salient answer just as quickly. The future had to be even more expedient than my time.

               “I’m sorry to hear that.” Something in my expression must have given away my first-time status to the future, and a look I was not accustomed to seeing spread across his face. Pity. “Come this way, and we can find some answers.”

               We walked down a hallway, doors opening here and there. People entering and exiting chatting comfortably and casually. Faces smiled and laughed, an air of familiarity among everyone. We entered an office and I was seated at a desk opposite a woman with a warm (condescending? Or was that imagined) smile. At this point, I still felt confident we would sort all this out. It was a surprise party planned, designed to prolong this moment. That was it. Had to be it.

               “First time to the future?” the woman asked. I nodded in affirmation. Hearing her voice, my confidence in my dramatic surprise party dissipated. I worried my voice would suddenly crack or belie my growing apprehension. “Sometimes it’s hard to see the impact our actions have the first time, let’s see what I can pull up.”

               Now I was really rocked. My actions impact? I worked hard, I gave all my time and my life to building my empire! Why would it be hard to see that impact? It should be shouted from the rooftops. Anger swelled within me, I couldn’t help but speak now.

               “Excuse me? My actions? My actions are what made me a success. I was the first woman in my family to earn a master's in business analytics, own her own company, and a damn successful one. I built homes, sent my family on lavish vacations, my children to the best schools. Provided a secure future for generations. My actions are above reproach.”

               “I can see your successes on my screen,” she said with a calmness that silenced me as effectively as a slap across the face. It was said with kindness. But a kindness tinged with sympathy. “I can also see here no one has reserved a seat to your meeting here today. You have no current communications with your children or their children in our time registered with our message servers. It’s common for impending visitors to confirm meetings. We find relationships can be more strained than anticipated without this open line of communication.”

               “I had the visit planned, why would it need further communication? The date and time were clearly expressed in the travel plans.” She paused, looking down at her desk before returning my gaze.

               “Sometimes the things we think are important in our time, aren’t as important to the future.” She left it at that and sent me with a print out of my living descendants' contact numbers.

               I found myself sitting in the hall outside arrivals staring at the paper with my families’ numbers. I saw my oldest daughter’s name, my son. A list of their children. It occurred to me then I didn’t know a lot of the names under my children’s. Grandchildren? Who belonged to who? How old would my children be now? I had to perform a series of mental gymnastics to remember my daughter would be in her 60’s now, older than me. What was she like? Did she run a business like me? I had always assumed she did, but now I wasn’t so sure. The office administrator seemed to think her values would be different than mine. How could that be when I raised her?

               But that was what she meant, wasn’t it? I hadn’t raised her. I left before she woke up and got home after she went to bed. It seemed and still does, like the right thing to do to build a future for her. Would she not see it that way? Did she remember me less as a positive and strong role model or as an absent mother, someone who floated in and out missing major milestones?

               I sat and stared at the numbers, full of a doubt I had never felt before this day. I glanced at the bank of phones to the side of me, then back at the numbers. What if she didn’t answer? What if she did?