Oh Look, Another Time Travel Question 

They asked what my life will be like in three years. I told them I’m still trying to figure out next Tuesday. 

Some men build time machines. Others read about alien pods and synthetic sheep, hoping to understand what went wrong with the species. I do both — coffee optional, cynicism not. 


Every time someone asks about the future, I picture a crowd of anxious humans trying to schedule the weather or negotiate with fate via Google Calendar. It’s adorable. Come here, let me pinch your cheek. Really—this obsession with pretending we’re in control. I’ve met potholes with a stronger sense of inevitability. 

Three years from now, I’ll probably still be working on the time machine in my basement. People keep asking why. I tell them it’s cheaper than therapy and safer than dating apps. Besides, time travel makes more sense than “five-year plans.” At least with time travel, you accept the paradox. With planning, you just lie to yourself more efficiently. 

So, keep endless scrolling and doing your TikTok dances. Because apparently no one needs cable anymore, and I suppose that makes you a public servant now. So—high five? What? Get away from me… weirdo. 

In three years, I hope to have mastered the fine art of not giving a damn about metrics. Maybe I’ll finally stop apologizing for slow progress and start celebrating that I’m still moving at all. I might have fewer teeth, more coffee stains, and the same bad back—but I’ll also have more stories. And if that’s not progress, what is? 

If the time machine works, I’ll visit future me just to see if I ever stopped procrastinating. My bet? Future me is standing in the same spot, muttering something about “calibration issues” and sipping cold coffee. If that’s the case, I’ll pat him on the shoulder, tell him he did fine, and leave him to his nonsense. 

Because maybe that’s the secret: it’s not about what the future looks like. It’s about showing up for the weird present we’ve already got—even if the gears grind, the circuits smoke, and the timeline refuses to cooperate. 

Because no one needs body snatchers—thank you, Jack Finney—or android replicas of Philip K. Dick. Be yourself. Live in the moment. Don’t be a pansy. 

So, what will my life be like in three years? 

Hopefully still under construction. Hopefully still mine. 

And if the time machine’s finally working by then… I’ll let you know. 


Daily writing prompt
What will your life be like in three years?

11 thoughts on “Oh Look, Another Time Travel Question 

  1. I think it was about tenish years ago that I first heard the term ‘be/live in the present’. I liked the term But I never fully grasped all the edges of the term and it’s vitalness for human life. I find that gradually I learn some new benefit and embrace that as my abilities at living in current moments grow.
    We are not in control of much at all, making that sentiment about present living even more significant. I think time travel is fascinating and not to change anything really, but as you said, for observation purposes. Just to look at myself…or others…with now eyes. 🙂
    As a side note, Dark was one of the most interesting and complex examples of a time travel story. I had fun figuring out all of the characters.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. I’m dreading the outcome of the Budget in the next three weeks, let alone three years under this lot.
    We’ll be poorer, have less and back to making things stretch instead of enjoying the retirement we’d worked and saved so hard for.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. She is coming after pensioners from all directions, those who are saving towards their pensions, and those who have already retired. We are currently doing OK having gone without so much when we were working to make our retirement comfortable. There are millions like us, and she want to strip us of our efforts. If she can’t get us directly, then she’s taking it from families in inheritance taxes.

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