The most frightening thing in the world is asking yourself the question "What next?"
Generally, I'm asking "What now?" which is an entirely different kettle of soy-free protein substitute. "What now?" is a reactive question. It's asked at 2 in the morning, when we wake up and hear the dog vomiting. It's asked when, despite all of my best efforts to ignore it, the check engine light in the Volvo goes from a soothing glow to an urgent flash of S-O-S. It's asked when there is a knock at the door and the peephole shows Neighbour Lady wearing yet another stern expression.
"What now?" is the question stress asks. It's the rapid pulse of a tiny creature destined to end life as a damp crunch.
And it's boring.
"What now?" makes no plans, has no vision. It exists between one moment of uncertainty and the next. That's fine, in the short term, if you're trying to land a plane but the engines and the pilot have suddenly taken a nap. It made certain your specific ancestors leapt from the bank to the branch at the first sign of something large and toothy approaching the waterhole. "What now?" is the best friend Humanity has, if all we want is to survive the depth of night.
Over the long haul, though, "What now?" will eventually wear you out. It's wearing me out, but it's known and safe, even if it's not that restful. Ooh, and there's the sweet lie, right there. Living on this many eggshells is not safe, not really. It's noisy and uncomfortable and stinks of eggs. It's familiar and that can feel like comfort but it's not the same as actually feeling security and trust.
So if "What now?" helps you leap to the highest branch and throw feces at the eyes that circle below, "What next?" will help you find the plants higher in fiber so you have more ammunition next time. It acknowledges that not only will there be a next time, but when it arises, the beast below is going to have a find a deeper water hole to wash off the consequences.
"What next?" is a risk taker. It gives a nod to the status quo and then suggests that status quo put down it's knitting and grab life by the nethers.
"What next?" is a visionary.
This little letter is to me and to anyone who's pulse is flagging from being rapid for so long. When you're ready, take a deep breath and challenge your inner ape to climb to the top of the tree. Not to search the horizon, it's too far and no one has ever really touched it. Search for the better tree on the next hill, maybe the one with a better metaphor and dare to ask yourself, "What next?"
