I love ya, tomorrow...

What is it about tomorrow that permits every one of us to channel Scarlett O’Hara? Tomorrow is just another day, but so is today. So was yesterday. Why do we put off until tomorrow what we could do today? What’s going to change about ourselves, about our motivation, our abilities, about the world we live in? Is it about the promise, the idea of starting anew, starting fresh - as if we’ve already ruined today’s chances? Is it merely a scapegoat, a hairy excuse with horns lazily wandering through our thoughts with a mouthful of weeds that reminds us the grass is always greener on the other side of midnight? Of course, the opposite problem is always possible, so afraid of tomorrow that there can be no rest for the weary.

The dilemma is, how does the weary rest and accomplish life’s goals?

My dad is dead. He didn’t pass away - he died. He spoke to my mother on the phone, walked out of the house, got into his car, started it up and put it in reverse. Then he died. And ran his car into the corner of the neighbor’s house. It wasn’t a stroke or a heart attack. He wasn’t suffering from a chronic illness or a debilitating disease, he didn’t have an accident, he wasn’t attacked nor did he meet his fate at the hands of a natural disaster. He dropped over dead.

I’m not sure what he thought about that day, if he was contemplating his retirement or planning a visit to see me in Kansas City. Maybe there was a basketball game on that evening or perhaps a pile of work shirts that needed ironed. Was he thinking about Christmas?

The date was December 6. It was 3 days past his 65th birthday.

He never did visit me in Kansas City. He never saw his grandson play soccer or meet my dog. He also never had that sports car he’d dreamed of.

I don’t know what else my dad wanted. I doubt it was very much. But I wish that I’d asked him.

This isn’t about what my father did or did not accomplish in his lifetime and it isn’t about the idea we could all drop dead at any moment.

It isn’t entirely about those things.

Though they both weigh heavily on my mind. I try not to perseverate on those thoughts of gloom and doom or else they’d invade my world with a crippling darkness that sucks me deeper under the covers each morning until one day I’m unable to leave my bed.

Ah.

That’s it, isn’t it?

That’s tomorrow.

Whether we’re well or sick, happy or sad, rested or tired, joyful or fearful, alive or dead - tomorrow happens.

Tomorrow will happen.

Suddenly the blinds are flung open and rays of sunshine stream in through the windows and I indeed am greeted by a new day, by tomorrow.

Tomorrow is hope.

Because tomorrow happens there is also the opportunity to create a tomorrow, any tomorrow that fulfills our needs. Obligations, dreams, desires, fantasies, challenges, chores - all will be greeted by tomorrow, just as we will be. It’s a mental manipulation we can carry around ourselves like a security blanket. We become Linuses of the lies, using tomorrow as an excuse and wrapping our souls in swaddled promises and breathe easy, a sigh of relief, tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow…

I can do it tomorrow!

I don’t need to worry about it until tomorrow!

Tomorrow we can be anyone and do anything and accomplish whatever we put our minds to doing.

Tomorrow things will be different…

And things could be different - the lies are only poison insofar as we allow ourselves to betray what we know to be true: We have control over our own lives and we alone are responsible for the choices that we make. Are you freaking kidding me? It’s called free will! We are the puppeteers and the masters of our own fates. We can’t be afraid of the challenge - it’s too easy to allow the world to take over and dictate the day.

It’s not only that we put off the unpleasant, we seem to put off anything that deviates from routine. For someone that hates routine and throws around the word “complacency” with the same amount of contempt I exhibit when I pronounce Sarah Palin’s name, one might think that I would do anything to escape a routine. Yet I find myself in a daily revolving door.

Tomorrow will happen. If not for me, then for somebody else.

Oh, yeah…Three years later my parents’ neighbors have yet to fix the corner of their house. Perhaps they keep putting it off, until tomorrow.