What would Future Amy do?

I've been thinking a lot about the future lately. It's been an evolution of sorts, actually, which started back in the "What would Jesus do?" era. Those were tough times because I'm pretty sure that Jesus wouldn't approve of my diabolical scheme to wait until the month after expiration to inspect my truck so that, after a premeditated twelve-year-cycle, I will have saved one full year of inspection fees. To reduce the marital squabbling in my home, I eventually revised the "WWJD" to "What would Brad Mosiman do?" but that was a belly-buster too. Would Brad Mosiman risk possible deportation by stealing a serving utensil from a moderately-priced Mexican resort for the pure pleasure of saying, "Would you please pass the Cancun spoon?" at dinner parties?  So I began to think, "What would Amy-of-the-future want me to do?"

Future Amy is a wise and wonderful woman. Consulting and considering her desires has changed the way I live my life. Sure, Brad has been working toward the future for years as he steals money from Present Amy for retirement but my system is less about monetary reward and more about becoming a better person. I stumbled onto my system a few years ago when I would alter a school lesson as I was implementing it. Wanting to jazz up a reading comprehension passage on the already-exciting Mars Rover, I unearthed blueprints on how to design a space vehicle out of candy. Not surprisingly, it was a big hit and I didn't want to forget it for next year so I jotted myself a note in the teacher's manual. "Dear Future Amy, you sure are a pretty little thing! Remember the candy Mars Rover unless you actually enjoy squeegeeing the drool of bored schoolchildren off their desks." What a delight to encounter that note a year later!

It is important to bear in mind that, in addition to living years and decades ahead, Future Amy exists right around the corner. Yesterday, my daughter Savannah had to attend a mandatory volunteer (Note to future readers: look up the definition of "oxymoron.") expo at her college so I went with her to keep her company with the intent of visiting our friend, Sarah afterwards. Long story short (you're welcome), we were done before noon, Sarah was busy until 4 and despite our hankering for movie popcorn and Raisinettes, we decided to forego movies and drove home. "We could stop at Wegman's," I said sleepily as we approached Geneseo. Neither one of us felt like leaving our warm and cozy car to brave a wind-blasted parking lot to enter a crowded store. We wanted to get home to warm blankets, fluffy pillows and snuggly dogs. But for the benefit of my daughter, I pulled myself together. Someone had to be the ADULT here. "Think about Future Amy and Future Savannah," I told my daughter as she gripped the steering wheel, intent on the road leading home. "Think beyond this moment, Savannah. This isn't about you. Think about their needs. How are they going to feel with no yummy snacks...no pudding...no ice cream? I know you're tired, Savannah, but think about them." With a sigh, Savannah selflessly flipped on her turn signal and we bravely trekked into the store.

Forty-five minutes later, tucked in on the couch, Future Amy and Future Savannah were happily eating slightly-warmed pecan sticky buns with frothy glasses of milk. That evening, the two were as pleased as punch as they scooped out bowls of Ben & Jerry's Phish Food.  Holding up her Cancun spoon filled with fudge-y fish, Present Amy toasted the sacrificial commitment of Amy-and-Savannah-of-the-past. "In the prophetic words of Mahatma Ghandi," Present Amy said, ignoring Present Savannah as she rolled her eyes, "The future depends on what you do today."  "Well, make a note to Future Amy," Savannah said, glaring at her dessert cup, "to NOT buy generic pudding next time."