My future self

Sometimes I wish I could lie on the beach like everyone else and read pulp fiction. Or listen to music. Or just switch off entirely. Perhaps I’ve been working for so many years without a proper break that I’ve forgotten how to relax? I can still just about remember what it was like being carefree and totally at ease. It was a brief interlude between graduating at university and starting my own business, a few heavenly months that happened twenty years ago. The enormous goal of getting a degree in English literature had been ticked off my ‘to do’ list, and it was the final thing on that list. I didn’t have a job to walk into. I didn’t have a book to write. I didn’t have a business to run or a house to renovate. I was free.

I owned a guitar and an early 1970s camper van. I could drive anywhere on a whim and sleep wherever I parked the van. If I ran out of money the guitar would help me to earn enough cash for another tank of petrol. There were no mobile phones and no Internet. I didn’t even own a computer. It was a wonderful taste of how simple life could be before money, property, business, relationships and responsibilities anchored me down. Fair enough, I wanted those things, and the lack of freedom is part of the price that must be paid. It’s not dignified to live in an old van all your life, in any case. But somewhere along the way I think I’ve lost the skill of relaxing.

So I sat on the beach today, feeling decidedly unrelaxed. Actually, I didn’t want to relax. I wanted to learn about Mayan glyphs. I think it’s safe to say that I was the only person on this beach today reading about the history of the discovery and interpretation of Mayan writings. I finished the day more knowledgeable on the subject than I was at the start. I made the day count. This information in my head will in some way make a contribution to my rewriting of The Sphinx Scrolls. And that’s how I feel about every day: I want to make it count.

If a full day passes and I haven’t done at least one small thing to invest in my future self, then I can’t help but feel that it’s been a wasted day. Writing a page of my novel is helping my future self. So is making progress on doing up my house. So is going for a jog or learning another language. These things don’t have to take up the entire day – there is still room for fun, being charitable, daily chores etc. But if I manage to make progress on writing my book then I get the greatest sense of satisfaction because one day I will look back at my past self and be grateful that I put in the effort. I’m grateful that I bothered to write dozens of books when I was younger: some of them still earn me money today. A day spent watching sport or drinking in the pub to me feels like cheating on my older self. So does sitting on a beach all day doing nothing. It’s like spending every penny you earn and putting zilch aside for a pension. Your future self won’t thank you for that. Just do one small thing each day for your future self, however, and you’ll both get along fine.

And if you must sit on the beach, your future self will certainly be happier if you use sunscreen.