The Kind of Future I’m Hoping For

Honestly, it’s the possibility that we might get better at admitting how little we know about taking care of each other. I’ve spent years fumbling with that. I know how easy it is to hurt people without meaning to, or to hide when I’m the one bleeding.

I’m drawn to a future where we’re not so afraid to say what we really want—not the obvious stuff people chase thinking it’ll mean they matter. Not more rooms, more screens, more numbers in an account. That’s noise.

I mean the quieter wants that don’t go away: wanting to be listened to without being fixed. Wanting forgiveness for the mess we are. Wanting to know we’re not alone when it gets dark.

I’ve learned the hard way ignoring those needs doesn’t make them disappear. It just makes them hungry in uglier ways.

I guess I’m excited for a time when we can admit those are real. Not shameful, not weakness. When we can say I don’t have the answer but I’ll sit with you while we think.

I don’t expect that everywhere. But I’ve felt it, here and there. Those small, honest moments are enough to keep me hoping. Enough to make me want to keep going.

Like the time I broke down in front of someone I barely knew, and they didn’t try to fix it—they just handed me a glass of water and stayed. That’s the sort of future I want more of. Simple. Human. Enough.