ask me in two years

We were sitting in the dark, on dried wood and broken fences and loose bricks. The Love Circus roared on around us. (Yes, Auroville hosted a fair that was literally called the Love Circus/Cirque d’Amour; and yes, I really attended.)

I was telling her my Plan. As if I had one.

“So, after the conference at Oxford, I’ll return to Paris for the summer and do all those things.”

“And then?” she asked eagerly. “What will you do after the summer?”

I tried for a moment to picture me somewhere doing something and realized it was—as it had been on every previous attempt—completely useless. I could be anywhere: building online communities in D.C. or web gadgets in Honolulu; traveling the seven seas on a luxury yacht; waiting tables in some European café; building microfinance institutions in Africa; exploring great mysteries in Asia. I'm no longer worried. Something will happen and it will all click into place. I am on my path, I just don’t know exactly which way it curves next.

So I answered in the only honest way I knew: “Ask me in October.”

“She does that a lot,” he interrupted. “Ask me in two weeks, ask me in As months, as me in two years. Never quite the answer.”

“Au contraire,” I said with a laugh, because I knew they were teasing me. But I still had reason to object. “Ask me in two weeks or two months or two years and I will live the answer.”


I hate predictions. I hate telling people what or where I’ll be. I hate plans because they never actually happen as you envision them. So why bother? New discoveries and environments will transform my situation, needs, desires and options, and what may have once seemed like the most obvious decision will seem ridiculous when it comes time to act. When I reach the crossroads I’ll let you know if I go right or left, but I won’t know which way until I see the signs.

And, in the same vein, I realize other people are just as turbulent as me. Life is fickle. What you offer me now—job, room, etc—may not be available as time too changes your situation, needs, desires and options. Just as I can’t commit to something too far or too vague, I refuse to count on your epheral offerings—tempting as they may be.

I learned a long time ago that things change. Dramatically. Quickly.

For example: Two months ago I didn’t want to be in India and dreamed only of Paris. Today I’m thrilled to be living in Auroville and dread leaving. Two months ago I lingered in bars and cafés for too many hours. Today I attend ridiculous events with absurd names like “Love Circus.” And I enjoy it.