Most of the things that are on your mind right now have something to do with the future — something you don’t know about tomorrow, the weekend event you are looking forward to, the month-end meeting you think will bore you to death. Tomorrow is where we are all inevitably going.
But there comes a time, as I realised when I met my 90-year-old (or thereabouts) grandfather when I went home in December 2013, when the another inevitability — death — narrows things down. My grandfather is at a point when all that he sees in his tomorrow is death. And because he has never been one to look back, all he has left is the present.
Therefore, he fills his days with all manner of ephemeral concerns. He has grown fond of snacks, he dusts the house (or seems to) the whole day. He opens closed windows and closes open windows. He has to do something, and because he can’t do anything that may bring him results tomorrow, his mind has grown accustomed to treating momentary pleasures as things of great importance.
So as I write this on a Wednesday, waiting for a Sunday, I can’t help but think that tomorrow is, at least on one level, a mental anchor that keeps me sane.