"I don't even know what I was running for - I guess I just felt like it."

A couple years ago, my cousin from Phoenix came to visit. Each day we occupied ourselves with a museum or a mystery spot, a bridge or a beach. And this particular visitor was nothing special (sorry, J!). If you've ever been lucky enough to be a guest in my home, you know that there isn't much downtime. Everything is planned to a T (or to the dish, if you ask my mom). So what makes this particular visit especially memorable is the way in which our dinner conversation started out on the fourth day. We had just painted the town red, and I was almost too tired to pick up my fork. My cousin, on whom we can always rely for this one sole aspect, came through that night as well: he broke the silence.

"What now?" He asked in his characteristic matter-of-fact tone. My uncle, who always knows what to say (obviously because he is a professor), replied, "Now? We're eating." My cousin was not satisfied. "But what next?"

Though at the time, we were mostly impressed that my cousin had the energy to even discuss a post-dinner plan, I am not here to discuss discrepancies in fatigue between children and adults. I'm here to discuss the What now, what next phenomenon (Italics makes everything more legitimate).

Of late, conversations in which I am entrenched are predominantly focused on what's next. Both, what's next on the agenda for the day or the evening and what's next on the itinerary for life. And while the latter is completely appropriate especially for college seniors, I find the former to be quite saddening. It is baffling to me that a group of people can get together for dinner, and rather than share quirky anecdotes and pleasantries, turn the meal into a planning meeting for the rest of the night. What ever happened to living in the moment? Why wasn't dinner "part" of the night?

And right at this moment, as I was sitting here thinking about what to include in this paragraph, I had a realization (real-time Ro!). We're not just defying the cliche. We're growing up. We're becoming planners. We have had it drilled into our systems that we must always be prepared, have a plan, establish a direction. And we simply can't escape the urge to plan.

To this day, when we go to family parties, my parents will tell us in the car that we will leave at a specific time. Especially when I was younger, I would wonder how they knew that at that specific ETD, the fun would stop. How can you know when you're going to want to leave before you even get there? Because they're not even thinking about the dinner party. They're thinking past the dinner party. In their mind, the dinner party is over and they are already waking up for work the next morning. They plan backwards, and in favoring the future, end up shortchanging the present.

Now I'm not saying that we shouldn't think ahead or consider consequences and repercussions. I am merely suggesting that we don't always have to be doing something noteworthy. Laughter and rich conversation can occur anytime, anywhere, except when you are talking about where and when to experience them.

Maybe letting yourself go where the wind blows you in an effort to savor every moment is embarrassingly childish. But spending every moment thinking about and planning your next move is embarrassingly adultish.