Stories from the Future

Dear Crew,

I've been noticing something for a while now. Whether it's about business, spirituality, health, or rituals—at some point, almost the same phrase always comes up.

"People used to do it that way, too."

"Witches knew that all along."

"The Maya…"

These stories often sound wonderful. And sometimes they might even be true. But to be honest, I don't know. Because history is told. Written down. Selected. Not every voice was heard. Not every discovery was named after the person who made it.

That's why I've become cautious. Not because I don't love history, but because I take it seriously.

What I can observe, however, is the here and now. I can see that there are indigenous communities today that live in a deep connection with nature. Some of them consciously protect their way of life and seek no contact with the outside world. That deserves respect.

Others are speaking out. For their forests. For their language. For their culture. For their humanity.

Maybe we should listen to them more often. Instead of just telling stories about their ancestors.

I realize that I don’t want to romanticize the past. Nor do I want to romanticize the present. When I walk through the city, I see suffering. The obvious kind—people who are begging, who are addicted, who seem lost. And I see the other kind of suffering. The glittering kind. People who are laughing, who are busy, who look perfect. And beneath that, sometimes, a longing. A search. I know it. From my own life.

I used to often think I had to find the right story. Today, I believe something else.

Maybe we don't need any more stories about the golden days of the past. Maybe we need more stories about a more humane future. Not as an escape, but as a direction.

Long before us, there were people who longed for a more humane future. I don't know who they were. But I believe they existed. And somehow, I feel connected to them. Because I share their hope.

Perhaps that is the true thread that connects us across time. Not the same tools. Not the same traditions. But the same longing. The longing to live together in a more humane way.

I don't want to repeat old stories just because they're old. I want to tell new stories—stories in which we don't have to constantly try to improve ourselves, stories in which sadness is allowed to be a part of life, stories in which we can honestly say, "I don't know what to do right now," and still keep going.

I don't want to live in the future. I want to dream of the future. And live in the present .

Because this is exactly where we can listen to one another. This is exactly where we can plant a tree. Write a song. Share a meal. Take a child seriously. Or simply look at someone with kindness.

Perhaps the future begins right here. Not at some point in the future, but in the small decisions we make today, at this very moment.

One day, people will look back on our time. I hope they don't say, "They had all the answers."

I hope they say, “You had the courage to tell new stories.” Stories in which hope didn’t mean closing your eyes to reality, but keeping them open—and continuing to dream nonetheless.

With love and confidence,
Jeannette