A Letter from the Future: Don’t Miss This Moment

I don’t know when exactly it happened—maybe it was during one of those late nights at the pub or while scrolling aimlessly through my phone for the hundredth time—but at some point, I realized I had stopped living and started just existing. Now, sitting here years later, older and maybe a little wiser, I find myself looking back at the version of me that had every chance to enjoy life, to really breathe it in… and didn’t. If I could send one message to that younger version of myself, it would be this: don’t wait for the perfect time to go. Just grab your pack, start the truck, and head into the woods. Life is happening now.

I remember the way the trees smelled after the rain, how the smoke from the campfire wrapped around my jacket, how the stars looked when the sky was truly dark. I remember laughing with friends, or sometimes being completely alone but at peace, listening to the gentle lapping of the lake against the shore. That peace, that clarity — it doesn’t live in a distant future. It’s found in the quiet of now, in the crackle of a fire and the silence between bird calls.

But I traded too many of those moments for distractions that didn’t matter. I told myself I was too busy, that there would be time later. But later has a funny way of becoming now, and now becomes regret if you’re not careful. The truth is, the forest doesn’t wait. The fish don’t hold still. And the people you love — they move on, grow older, just like you do.

If you’re reading this, standing at the edge of your next camping trip, or even just thinking about one, go. Go deep into the trees. Take in the sunrise from a misty lake. Cook something simple over an open flame and taste every bite like it’s your last meal on Earth. Sit with your thoughts, your fears, your joy. Because the real adventure isn’t just the trail ahead — it’s the decision to be in it, right now.

The world will always be full of reasons to stay behind — work, stress, comfort zones. But the version of you that’s out there around the fire, with a mug of something warm and the stars above you? That version will thank you. I know I would. Every time I look back, it’s not the stuff I bought or the promotions I got that I remember. It’s the nights in the tent, the smell of pine, the quiet. That’s what matters.

So from me — your future self — let me leave you with this: You have everything you need. The time is now. Beyond the timbers, the life you want is waiting. Don’t miss it.