Trask Avenue

What next?
What’s your plan?
Where to from here?
What are you going to do?

We hear these questions all the time, from every direction. They come from relatives and friends. Colleagues toss them like grenades. Strangers eavesdrop on our lives and get into the act. This relentless need to definitively establish a charted course is not only asked of us, but everyone else too. Inevitability, during almost any conversion a shift occurs and the focus becomes, “What next?”

Choose. Decide. Pick. Determine. Select. For the love of god, do something. We haven’t got all day. If you don’t make a decision I’ll make one for you. These relentless demands are designed to push us forward, to get us moving. Apparently many people believe progress only comes in the form of a defined, planned action towards an equally defined, planned outcome.

Funny how those outcomes often turn out totally different than planned, isn’t it?

This approach to life has become as commonplace as breathing. Those who wish to know our direction come from a good place, a place of noble intentions. They are concerned. But when these questions are asked the air is suddenly heavy with apprehension because you are expected to have an answer. You must have an answer. You simply must. As if having an answer in and of itself was the answer.

The next time you feel pressured to respond to the “What next?” question remember the words of Mark Twain: “I was gratified to be able to answer promptly. I said I don’t know.”

What next’s for me? Well, I could read or write for a bit. Perhaps I’ll sit by the window and listen to the wind rustle through the autumn leaves. Maybe I’ll take an aimless walk with my camera on this mild night. Then again, closing my eyes and daydreaming sure holds tremendous appeal. My choices are deliciously varied. This much I am sure of: When it comes to “What next?” I’ll know when I know – and not a moment sooner.