I guess I should start by putting everything out in the open and saying I’m terrified of you. Even by typing “Dear Future,” beads of sweat form at the tips of my fingers down to my palms. The chills that run up my spine and the deep breathes I take when anyone slightly tilts their head to the side and purse their lips to begin a question with “What are your plans for…”

It is a lot of pressure to not only come up with a response, not that I don’t know what I want my future to consist of, but also to follow through on my response. What if I tell people exactly what I want my future to consist of and it does not happen? Not that they will remember the conversation after five minutes, but I don’t want to have to re-explain why something did not work out or why I changed my path. This is the problem that makes sweat begin to swallow my entire body…

Who knows what the future will bring? No one, except for the people who can time travel according to all the conspiracy theory videos I watch. It is almost as terrifying as sitting down thinking about what happens after this life; there is no certain answer.

There is no way for me to know if it is going to go great or if it going to go to complete shit. I just need to know, okay! And yes maybe this does boil down to the fact that I’m a control freak and I have to be in control of every aspect of my life. But is that such a bad thing to want to know? I don’t know why I feel like it would not be great or ideal. I have ideas, pretty straight forward ideas, of what I want to be doing, but I question whether that will work out. Will I be able to make everything that I want to happen happen?

Possibly, that is my very problem with you, dearest Future: that I know exactly what I want you to consist of and possibly as well – actually, I am certain that this is the very thing that terrifies me – that the ideal relationship I see for you and me will not happen. Will I be living in an apartment in New York City with Gramps and my cat, working my dream job around people that challenge me and make me better? Will the relationships I have now continue to blossom, or will they die like every plant I have ever owned?

Will I live a comfortable life in which I don’t have to check my bank account every time a friend asks to grab lunch? Or will I remain in the financial state I’m in now: a college student who has to check their bank account every time a friend asks to grab lunch?

That is what scares me, but also, this is the very thing that excites me: the uncertainty of you, the Future.