What do I look forward to each day? Well, I wake up each day hoping that something, really anything, will jolt me from my daily cycle of overthinking, procrastination, and the onset of my imminent mid-life crisis. Maybe it’s the prospect of finally finishing that ever-growing list of drafts I’ve promised myself I’d clear out by the end of the year. Maybe it’s just the promise of an opportunity promising enough to blur out my ever-looming regrets and give me the energy to meet my unrealistic writing goals. Either way, what keeps us going are these tiny glimmers of hope—be they meaningful or utterly trivial—that make life feel just a little less like an endless grind.

Of course, I could lie and say I spend most of my time looking forward, focusing on a bright future filled with productivity and self-fulfillment. But that wouldn’t explain the hours I spend ruminating over past mistakes like a scholar of failure. Sure, people say it’s good to reflect on the past to learn from it. Yet, honestly, most of us just wallow in our bad decisions, hoping we’ll magically rewrite our histories if we stare back at them long enough. Of course, time doesn’t work that way, so they never do.

Still, I’m trying this whole “looking forward” thing, that optimistic approach where I focus on all the grand words I’ll write, the spontaneous adventures I’ll embark on, and the perfect balance of mind, body, and spirit I’ll finally achieve. None of this, speaking pragmatically, is particularly likely—but hey, one must dream to make life worth living.

The Art of Not Looking Back (But Still Doing It Anyway)

They say hindsight is 20/20, but my rear-view mirror is apparently in dire need of corrective lenses. I often convince myself I’m only looking back to “learn from my mistakes,” but what I’m really doing is wallowing in them like a pig in emotional quicksand. Truthfully, I’ve become quite skilled at dissecting my past errors with surgical precision, only to keep reopening the wound rather than stitching it up. Some might say it’s a talent, but it’s one I’d happily trade for the ability to move on like a normal human being.

It’s not that I don’t want to focus on the future. But every time I try, the past taps me on the shoulder and says, “Hey, remember that thing you did—or more specifically, didn’t do—three years ago? Let’s relive that for a while.” Suddenly, I’m sucked into a mental vortex of what-ifs and should-haves, spiraling deeper into the abyss of regrets. It’s not the least bit productive, and not even at all entertaining, except perhaps in the way that a slow-motion train wreck might be.

I like to tell myself that by looking back, I’m helping myself to become a better person. Sure, reflection is necessary to gain wisdom or insight from my many missteps. But after a while, I’m just replaying the same highlight reel of personal failures, hoping that if I watch it enough times, maybe it’ll reveal something unexpected about me that I somehow missed before.

But this strange penchant that we humans have for attempting to revise our own histories to make them more palatable isn’t just ridiculous—it can even be quite dangerous. Mistakes don’t magically transform into victories just because you spend a few extra hours obsessing over them. Yet some of us convince ourselves that we deserve victory for just having tried, that we should all get a participation trophy and wield it like a gold medal like blissfully ignorant fools.

If anything, living in the past is just an excuse to avoid the uncertainty of the future. After all, the future is a great unknown, while the past is a disaster, but at least it’s well-documented. Sure, there are some useful lessons to be learned from history. But at some point, you must stop analyzing your greatest hits of failure and start looking forward to the possibility of something finally turning out right.

In the meantime, I’ll continue perfecting the art of pretending to learn from my past while secretly indulging in a bit of self-pity. I figure if I occasionally glance at the future and try to move forward, I can still call it progress. After all, it’s not like anyone’s keeping score—except me, of course, and I’m a notoriously unreliable referee.

Looking Forward to Words I’ll Write (Or Maybe Not)

I’m supposed to look forward to all the words I’ll write each day. It’s supposed to be one of those writerly affirmations. “I will write every day,” or “I will produce great works of literary genius.” But the reality is a bit less inspiring, being more like, “I will stare at a blank page for two hours before giving up and scrolling through memes.” So, here I am, determined to look forward to the words I might write, even if most of them end up in the ever-growing trash bin of half-baked ideas.

Perhaps the notion of “writing every day” is something I’ve romanticized far too much.

Honestly, every writer knows that most of what we churn out daily isn’t exactly Pulitzer material. In fact, I’d wager that for every nugget of brilliance, there are about ten pages of fluff, filler, and half-hearted attempts at coherence. But the beautiful thing about writing is the act of codifying thought and emotion in the most raw, honest way that words alone can produce. The sheer act of putting pen to paper—or fingers to keyboard—holds the possibility that something worthwhile might accidentally slip out. Even if it doesn’t, at least you’ve engaged in the sacred ritual of creative struggle.

I used to debate about what my grand word count goals should be—10,000 words a week, maybe, or a novel by the end of the year. But I’ve learned the hard way that setting arbitrary word counts only leads to one thing: forced and scattered prose that mostly ends in failure to communicate effectively.

So, over the past year, I’ve decided to keep things much simpler. To consistently keep my writing muscles primed, I’ve made it a habit to write two daily reflections: one in the morning and another in the evening. Sometimes I’ll even write one midday if I’m feeling particularly reflective. I’ve stopped setting word count goals entirely. I have no deadlines. I write whatever comes to me, clinging to an absurdly optimistic hope that I’ll write something each day that doesn’t make me cringe when I reread it later. Of course, I will cringe often, but at least I’m working at clearing out my conscious cache to make room for better things.

After all, does any of what we write matter in the grand scheme of things? Sure, I could churn out a thousand words on the latest trend, meticulously optimize my manuscript to comply with the latest SEO best practices and search trends, then casting it out into the winds with the fleeting hope that it will climb the rankings in some algorithmic hellscape. But I’ve done that before, gotten next to no interaction—including posts that would never get any views.

My entire SEO strategy, drilled into me by everything I ever read about content creation, left me in ruins, silently and sadly questioning the very meaning of “content creation.” So, to gather my wits, I had to give up on all that and simply write for the sake of writing. I’m no longer chasing clicks or page views. I write because there are things rattling around in my brain that need to be dragged out into the light of day, whether anyone else cares or not.

So, while it might sound cliché, I’m trusting in the process—wrestling with words in search of the occasional moment of clarity when a sentence just clicks. Sure, there will be an inevitable flood of self-doubt that follows almost everything I write. But I’ll still nurture that irrational hope that each piece I write will be significantly better than the last, even though the process often feels like flailing in an intellectual void. In any case, as my output stabilizes, I’m sure the number of words I look forward to writing each year could fill a book. Unfortunately, it may also read as a very long laundry list of all the ideas that didn’t work out to this point.

Forward-Looking Memories (That I Hope Don’t Involve Regret)

I’m looking forward to all the memories I’ll make in the days to come. Of course, many of these will be misadventures that are perfect fodder for my extensive collection of “What was I thinking?” moments.Really, half the memories we fondly anticipate will probably end up as cautionary tales, the kind you laugh about much later, with a healthy dose of self-deprecating humor. In the moment, though, my future seems like an unfortunate series of cringe-worthy disasters just waiting to happen.

Still, optimism is vital. So, I keep telling myself that this year’s adventures will be different. I’m going to embrace every opportunity, even when I’m physically not at my best, mentally checked out, or otherwise predisposed to overthinking the entire situation into oblivion. It’s the classic tug-of-war between wanting to live in the moment and knowing full well that I’ll probably trip over it and fall flat on my face.Yet, the hope must be there; I must keep optimistically clinging to the idea that one of my spontaneous choices won’t backfire spectacularly.

That’s the thing, though. Most of my choices might seem spontaneous, but there’s always some motivation behind them. I often overthink things too much, while other times I give in to a whim. Interestingly enough, at least for me, it’s the whims that tend to lead to the happiest results, which is in complete contrast to the well-laid plans that I have which always seem to fail. I’ve already made so many memories, some of them quite fondly remembered, but too many more that have bittersweet framing to them.

Of course, looking forward to making memories is a bit like walking into a restaurant without looking at the menu—you never really know what you’re getting. Some memories will be delightful, full of laughter and joy, like an unexpected dessert that you didn’t even order but somehow ends up at your table. Others will be the emotional equivalent of biting into something that looks amazing, only to discover it’s filled with the disappointment of bad decisions with a side order of regret. But that’s what makes life interesting, whether we like it or not. You never know if the next experience will be a pleasant surprise or a lesson in humility. It just so happens I have suffered far more of the latter.

I’ll admit, part of me wonders if I’ve already peaked in terms of memory-making. After all, how do you top the reckless spontaneity of your twenties, when “adventure” meant doing something wildly irresponsible because it felt like the thing to do? These days, adventure looks a little different. It’s much less “let’s road trip across the country without a plan” and more “maybe I’ll try a new flavor of iced tea this week.” But I must be okay with this smaller scale of adventure. I must learn to find joy in the quieter moments, those that don’t necessarily involve grand gestures or life-altering revelations. Sometimes, the best memories come from the unexpected simplicity of everyday happenings.

Still, there’s something to be said for trying new things, especially when the odds of success are low, and the risk of embarrassment is high. So many times, I’ve attempted something outside my comfort zone and failed spectacularly. But instead of laughing about it later, I cringe every time I think about these embarrassments. I’m a very sore loser. I don’t handle failure well at all. As much as I’d love to look back and see a highlight reel of success, the truth is, most of my life is overwhelmed with failure. But here’s where I’ve been coming around lately; I realize now that the best stories come from the times we stumble through life with no real plan and questionable judgment.

Nowadays, I can’t live in fear of the train wrecks waiting to happen. After all, they’re fuel for future anecdotes and stories. Looking back, I already have so many memories that make me cringe but make me chuckle in retrospect. I have to say, hey, at least I survived to tell these tales. So, here’s to looking forward to the memories that aren’t yet written, cringe-worthy as they may become.

Overcoming Bad Habits (By Overthinking Them)

I’ve often fantasized about overcoming all my bad habits. There’s some alternate reality where I go to bed at a reasonable hour, wake up at the crack of dawn, eat a balanced breakfast, and write thousands of absolutely life-changing words before 9 a.m. In this fantasy, I also make rational decisions quickly, effortlessly maintain focus, and somehow don’t fall into the time-sucking vortex of social media or video games. Now we’re back to reality. Well, I did delete all my social media accounts a couple years ago—besides Instagram which I barely use now anyway—so I kicked that. But, I haven’t made much progress on the rest of those things.

I’ve finally identified the main culprit, though. As I’ve been more intentional in my life lately, I’ve realized that I spend more time overthinking my bad habits than actually doing anything about them. In fact, I’m fully now aware of what my bad habits are. I could write an entire series of essays on the subject—not that I’d ever finish it, of course, thanks to those same habits. I know I should avoid procrastinating, cut back on mindless internet rabbit hole diving, and stop using my phone as a means of escaping any uncomfortable moment.

But rather than fixing these things, I tend to dive into a black hole of over-analysis. Why do I procrastinate? What deeper psychological forces are at play here? Could it be tied to some unresolved trauma from childhood? Suddenly, I’m deep in the weeds of self-reflection, with zero progress to show for it. Also, how are the Celtics doing?

It turns out that overthinking is not just a bad habit, but it’s the ringleader of all my bad habits. It’s the perfect enabler of all my other bad habits. For some reason, my brain has a built-in feature that allows me to analyze every trivial decision as if it’s a life-or-death situation. Should I tackle the important project I’ve been putting off? Well, let me think about it for a solid hour, weigh the pros and cons, consider every possible outcome, and then decide that, now, I’m too overwhelmed with all the possibilities to even begin. Better put it off until tomorrow. Rinse and repeat.

Perhaps this overanalysis is nothing but a symptom of my high-functioning autism. But anyone who knows me is aware that I won’t treat my autism like a disability, even when it clearly is an obstacle to staying on my game. Case in point, it’s not just the big decisions where my overthinking comes into play. In many cases, it’s the little things that drive me the most bonkers.

For example, should I read a book before bed or binge another video of how fast can I beat a twenty-five-year-old video game with this Pokemon? Simple choice, right? Well, no. My brain somehow manages to turn this into a philosophical debate about the benefits of intellectual growth versus the necessity of relaxation. Then, before I know it, it’s midnight, and I’ve done neither. It’s a wonder I accomplish anything at all, really.

My autistic brain also invites my bad habits to delightfully feed off each other. For example, procrastination pairs nicely with snacking, especially when the task I’m avoiding seems particularly unpleasant. Why work on that project when I could stress-eat my way through an entire bag of chips instead? Overthinking then swoops in to justify this behavior, offering me a well-constructed argument about how I’m fueling my brain for future productivity. But I’m not.

I’ve read enough self-help articles over the years to know that the key to overcoming bad habits is building better ones. Sure, there’s a lot of truth in that—making small, incremental changes can lead to big results over time. But of course, my brain won’t let me take that advice without complicating it. Instead of just starting with one simple habit, I must create a five-point plan that involves multiple steps, contingency plans, and a detailed risk assessment. I’ll spend days crafting this elaborate system, only to abandon it within a week because I’ve overthought it into oblivion.

The worst part about overthinking my bad habits is that I know I’m doing it. It’s like watching one of those slow-motion train wrecks; there’s nothing I can do to stop it, even though I see exactly where it’s headed. I know that I’d be better off just taking decisive action and moving forward. But my brain has other ideas. It wants to consider every possible angle, play out every scenario in my mind, and then, inevitably, get stuck in analysis paralysis.

So, what am I really looking forward to when it comes to overcoming my bad habits? Maybe it’s not so much about overcoming them as it is about learning to manage them. I must somehow accept that I’ll probably never be the kind of person who can just “make a decision” without agonizing over it first. Overthinking is part of my process, even if it’s also part of my problem. Yet this is also how I come to some of my most unexpected and best ideas. So, maybe the goal isn’t to eradicate my bad habits entirely, but to learn how to live with them. Of course, I also must learn to laugh at them.

After all, I could spend the rest of my life overthinking my flaws, or I could just take steps to work on them and call it character development. Sure, I might still procrastinate, snack too much, and fall into the occasional overthinking spiral. But at least I’ll be doing so with self-awareness—and maybe a touch of dark humor to get me through.If I’ve learned anything from my bad habits, it’s that they’re not going anywhere. I might as well make peace with them.

Viral Dreams (And the Reality of Being Ignored)

As someone who had a career in digital marketing for over a decade, I know better than most about the seductive allure of going viral, especially its darker side. In our internet age, many of us have shared in the fantasy of that one special moment, on just another Tuesday, where you create something so brilliant, so universally relevant, that it spreads across the internet like wildfire. Suddenly, you find yourself rocketed into fame, fortune, and perhaps an appearance on some late-night talk show where you pretend to be humble.

Yeah, I’ve imagined it more than a few times myself. In my dreams, though, it’s always the meteoric rise of some essay I never expected to do anything. But it turns out that it’s an insightful piece of writing, heartfelt because I wrote it in a particularly wistful moment, that finally breaks through the noise and gets shared not because it’s clickbait, but because it’s good. The sad reality, though, is that the things that go viral seem to fall squarely into two categories: complete absurdity or absolute banality.

It’s not that I’m above wanting my work to be shared, appreciated, or, dare I say, liked. I’m a writer, after all, and writers thrive on that rare moment when someone says, “Hey, this thing you wrote? It really meant something to me.” But honestly, I know that most of the time I’m shouting into the void. I’ve poured hours into pieces that I thought would surely resonate with someone—only to have them quietly drift away, lost in the swirling maelstrom of online content. Meanwhile, the internet rewards something ridiculous, like a video of someone crashing their car through a brick wall or increasingly sarcastic memes about an upcoming political election. Meanwhile, my deeply thoughtful work sits unnoticed, gathering metaphorical dust.

Of course, I could chase the algorithm. I could tailor every piece of writing to what’s trending, obsess over SEO again, and craft headlines designed to attract clicks rather than convey any real substance. Sure, I might get some attention—but at what cost? There’s only so much of my soul and respect for my artistry I’m willing to sell for a few extra page views. Honestly, if going viral means sacrificing whatever authenticity I have left, I’d rather keep yelling into the void.

Still, a small part of me holds on to the fantasy—that one day, someone will stumble upon my work, realize its brilliance (or at least its usefulness), and share it with the world. Maybe it’ll be the essay where I unravel some profound insight about the absurdities of modern life. Perhaps it’ll be some scathing takedown of literary criticism on something that everyone hates that I actually think is half-way decent, packed with sarcastic wit and dark humor. Who can say what might finally be “the one” that makes me forever a credible writer—or at least a memorable meme.

All I know is that it’ll probably be something I barely gave any thought to at all. Whenever I find myself getting no views on my latest post, I always think back to that one time I wrote an article about some random Pokémon and how it got more engagement in ten minutes than any of my thoughtful essays has gotten in a decade. The thing is, the internet, and popular culture in general, is a fickle beast. You can’t predict it, you can’t force it, and you certainly can’t chase it without losing yourself along the way. That’s what makes it so maddening and yet so tempting. The possibility that, at any moment, something you create could be the thing that gets picked up, shared, and appreciated by more than three people. It’s like playing the lottery, except instead of a million dollars, the prize is fleeting internet fame and a brief boost to your self-esteem.

But even if I never go viral—and, statistically speaking, I probably won’t—I’m learning to live with that. I’m not writing for clicks, shares, or the dopamine rush of engagement notifications (though I won’t pretend those things don’t feel good). No, I’m writing because I need to, because there’s something about stringing words together that makes sense of the bedlam in my brain. So, if my work doesn’t catch fire and spread like a meme, that’s fine. Most of the best things in life don’t go viral. They just quietly exist, appreciated by the few who stumble upon them and take the time to see their value.

So, yeah, I’m still looking forward to all the words I’ll write that won’t go viral—the ones that will sit on some corner of the internet, ignored by the masses but cherished by the handful of people who actually read them. In the grand scheme of things, creating something of value is what will stand the test of time. It’s not about getting millions of eyes on your page, but instead seeking out the few that truly see it for what it is.

Still, who knows? Maybe one day, in the distant future, someone will finally stumble upon my work, declares it brilliant, and I finally go viral for something useful. Hopefully, it’s a deep, introspective essay that somehow hits all the right beats at the right time, not a quickly thrown together ramble about my favorite Pokémon.

The Futility (And Necessity) of Looking Forward

So, what’s the point of all this looking forward? It might seem a little futile, considering life’s notorious unpredictability and the fact that most of our best-laid plans dissolve into entropy anyway. Yet I’ve spent a whole essay discussing all the things I’m supposedly looking forward to—writing more, having spontaneous adventures, and breaking bad habits—while simultaneously acknowledging how unlikely most of those outcomes are. It’s a bit of a contradiction, isn’t it—to keep looking forward, fully aware that the future is going to smack me in the face with the unexpected, the inconvenient, and even the downright absurd?

However, despite the futility, even though I’m probably setting myself up for more cringe-worthy memories and failed attempts, looking forward is necessary. It’s what keeps us getting up each morning, clinging to a quiet, if foolhardy optimism, even when we know better. We must keep this strange, often irrational, belief that today might just be better, that we’ll learn something, grow a little, and maybe surprise ourselves. After all, if we stop looking forward, what’s left? I was in a place like that a few years ago, and all I got was stagnation and too much free time endlessly ruminating about the past.

I’ve already proven that looking backward more often instead of forwards is a bad idea, so what’s my alternative? Well, then, I’ll take my chances with the unknown. I’ll keep dreaming about the next adventure, fantasizing about perfect health, pretending that this will be the year I write something truly great (even if it never publishes while I’m alive). Sure, I’ll still overthink my bad habits and occasionally fall for the fleeting hope of any content of mine going viral. But I’ll do so with my characteristic blend of sarcasm and hopeful realism. Really, that’s what it means to look forward—to go ahead into each day with a mix of foolish optimism and sarcastic wit, spiced with just enough self-awareness to laugh at our inevitable missteps.

So, my lovely readers, here’s to looking forward—to the highs, the lows, and all the absurdities in between. We can’t stop ourselves too long to worry about whether everything goes right, because most of the time, it won’t. I can’t burn myself out creatively chasing down that dream of finally achieving viral fame, because I probably won’t. Instead, we should be continuing to move ahead, knowing full well that the future will be messy, but also filled with possibilities none of us can even imagine yet. In an ever-expanding infinite universe, that’s all we can hope for, and perhaps all we even need.

~ Amelia Desertsong