We spend a lot of energy planning what comes next—until suddenly, we’ve arrived. We step away from a project, survive a crisis, send the last child off with casserole recipes and a prayer, or retire from a job we’ve loved and resented in equal measure. Then the silence creeps in and the real question whispers, “Well? You wanted this… now what?”

That question shows up in every season of life. After high school. After the first marital disagreement over laundry protocol. After the final move-out, when the perfectly curated nest echoes with possibility and dust. Even after retirement, when getting out of bed no longer requires an ID badge or alarm clock. It doesn’t stop with age. From what I’ve seen, it trails us right up to the final chapter.

I can’t say I’ve stood quite at the edge of life’s cliff and asked that question directly. If I’ve been close, I must have been preoccupied,possibly looking away from the drama, likely missing the moment entirely. But aging has taught me this: the mystery isn’t what’s ahead, it’s how I choose to see today’s steps, missteps, stumbles and blunders.

Because the surprises don’t stop. Words slip out sideways. Faces show up at the wrong time. Thoughts wander into the conversation uninvited. Reality rarely knocks first. No day repeats itself, thank goodness.

These days, when my neighbor takes a jab at my brownies, I no longer argue with myself about whether they count as food. I’ve accepted that one bite could endanger dental work. Instead, I suggest we drive to the bakery, on her credit card. That’s what growth looks like in my kitchen.

My reaction is the one thing I get to rewrite. If I laughed last time, I’m allowed to take offense today. Or laugh harder. Or set a shorter timer. Or take a nap.

The mature version of me knows I have choices. I no longer hand the microphone to my spitball-throwing grade-school self, though she still auditions. Instead, I let truth sit beside me and remind me there’s a reason I failed home economics. Turns out, even when the cake caves or the plan collapses, it’s still possible to say, “Well… I asked for this. Now what?”
Sometimes the answer is a new recipe. Sometimes, it’s a shopping trip.