2037

 By Tanner Olson

The Year is 2037

The year is 2037. I am 48-years-old and wondering where the time has gone. When I look in the mirror I see someone who looks familiar, but I am still getting to know him. A little worn and a little tired, but still me. I drive a used 2031 Honda Accord. It doesn’t fly like some of the new cars, but it gets me to where I need to be. The speakers continue to blast music from 2004 and, to this day, remains the best therapy I’ve ever received.

My son is now old enough to sit in the front seat. He tries introducing me to new “music” but I tell him that it is in fact garbage. He tells me I am not cool and I tell him to tell me something I don’t know. I tell him I love him and he tells me to tell him something he doesn’t know.

Much has changed since the day I wrote this, but some things haven’t. I am still a writer. My work has changed a bit, but it’s very much the same. I am still trying to try. I’m giving what I have with open hands and a willing heart. I’m still trying to find the words to tell you about hope and God and grace. I’m trying to write sentences that make you laugh and think and cry and buy my books.

Every morning, before I let my feet hit the floor, I close my eyes and breathe in deep and say to God, “Thank you. Help. Amen.” It’s the best prayer I know how to pray. It’s the prayer I am teaching my son.

I’ve not written a best-selling book. I haven’t walked a red carpet. I haven’t met the President or Michael Jordan or Taylor Swift, who is currently President. I’ve not been to Tokyo or Corpus Christi or Krystal. I’ve given up on getting into the best shape of my life and wait for the day when I get new knees. I often think about heaven, but not in a depressing way. Mostly, I am just ready to be home, but I’ve got a lot of living left to do.

I love her more than I did the first day I saw her. We are stronger than the day we said I do. She has seen me at my worst and best, old and new. At night we talk about retirement and all the places we want to visit. I tell her I just want to be with her and drink something fruity on a beach. Also, New Zealand.

I’ve become best friends with dogs and have said goodbye to a few of them.

I used to be 5’10.5”, but am now 5’10”.

I finally watched all the Planet of the Apes movies.

I’ve seen life and death. I’ve spoken at weddings and funerals. I’ve taken steps forward and back. I’ve asked God why. I have seen why. I’ve received news that has stopped my heart and brought tears to my eyes. The good and the bad. I’ve wrestled with the heaviness of life and have won and lost and tied. Every day I have told myself that everything will be okay, and most days I know this to be true.

I’ve gotten better at believing God’s grace is for me. Peace, too. I’ve stopped trying to feel close to God and have chosen to believe Him when He said He is with me always. He is. I’ve tasted and seen the goodness of God and I am still hungry and still looking and still trusting He is with me.

No longer am I believing I need more. I have more than I need. I’m trying to give it all away. Especially all the things I have come to learn. Like, the small things are the big things and the best days are the days where you aren’t staring at a screen.

These days, I say things to young parents that I swore I wouldn’t say to them. “Enjoy it. It goes by fast.” It does. This is what they told me in 2024 when I held my son in my arms. He would melt the hearts of strangers before they told me, “The days are long, but the years are short.” Sometimes the present makes us think there isn’t a future, but it’s out there. It’s waiting. We hold onto hope. We give what we have. We love big. We take another step. We say another prayer. We enjoy it. After all, it goes by fast.

With Hope, 

Tanner