📰 Sunday, May 31, 2026 — 9:20 a.m.
I’m parked on Washington Boulevard here in Los Angeles.
I just finished a delivery.
My left arm feels warmer than my right.
The sun is hitting pretty hard this morning.
⸻
The prompt asks:
What’s something you’d love to see in the future but know you probably won’t live long enough to witness?
I thought about technology.
I thought about artificial intelligence.
I thought about all the strange inventions that will probably exist one day.
But that’s not really what came to mind.
⸻
What I thought about was the future itself.
The life that will continue after me.
The people that will come after me.
The branches that will continue growing from the family tree.
⸻
One day I’ll become a photograph in someone’s album.
That sounds strange to write.
But it’s true.
Some future generation will look through old pictures and see a face they recognize.
Maybe they’ll have my nose.
Maybe my eyes.
Maybe my sense of humor.
Maybe nothing at all except a last name.
⸻
I’ll never meet them.
I’ll never know what kind of people they become.
I’ll never hear their stories.
I’ll never know what the world looks like through their eyes.
But maybe they’ll know something about me.
Maybe through photographs.
Maybe through stories.
Maybe through something I wrote.
⸻
It’s funny.
When we’re young we think about the future as a place we’re going.
As we get older, we start realizing there’s a future we’ll never see.
And somehow that doesn’t make me sad.
It makes me curious.
⸻
Maybe albums won’t even exist anymore.
Maybe they’ll be holograms floating in somebody’s living room.
Maybe they’ll have technology I can’t even imagine.
But somewhere inside all that future technology, there might still be an old photograph.
And in that photograph…
there I am.
💬 Reader Question
If someone looked through your family album a hundred years from now, what would you hope they learned about you?
📰 Sunday, May 31, 2026 — 9:20 a.m.
I’m parked on Washington Boulevard here in Los Angeles.
I just finished a delivery.
My left arm feels warmer than my right.
The sun is hitting pretty hard this morning.
⸻
The prompt asks:
What’s something you’d love to see in the future but know you probably won’t live long enough to witness?
I thought about technology.
I thought about artificial intelligence.
I thought about all the strange inventions that will probably exist one day.
But that’s not really what came to mind.
⸻
What I thought about was the future itself.
The life that will continue after me.
The people that will come after me.
The branches that will continue growing from the family tree.
⸻
One day I’ll become a photograph in someone’s album.
That sounds strange to write.
But it’s true.
Some future generation will look through old pictures and see a face they recognize.
Maybe they’ll have my nose.
Maybe my eyes.
Maybe my sense of humor.
Maybe nothing at all except a last name.
⸻
I’ll never meet them.
I’ll never know what kind of people they become.
I’ll never hear their stories.
I’ll never know what the world looks like through their eyes.
But maybe they’ll know something about me.
Maybe through photographs.
Maybe through stories.
Maybe through something I wrote.
⸻
It’s funny.
When we’re young we think about the future as a place we’re going.
As we get older, we start realizing there’s a future we’ll never see.
And somehow that doesn’t make me sad.
It makes me curious.
⸻
Maybe albums won’t even exist anymore.
Maybe they’ll be holograms floating in somebody’s living room.
Maybe they’ll have technology I can’t even imagine.
But somewhere inside all that future technology, there might still be an old photograph.
And in that photograph…
there I am.
💬 Reader Question
If someone looked through your family album a hundred years from now, what would you hope they learned about you?
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