“People tend to overestimate what can be done in one year and to underestimate what can be done in five or ten years.”​

– “Libraries of the Future” by J. C. R. Licklider (1965).​

(No, I didn’t read the book, and even Licklider says he didn’t invent the quote but it was a well-known maxim at the time. Still, this is the earliest published citation, even though it’s been attributed to several people over the years.)​

I’ve been profoundly impacted by this idea since I heard it two years ago. It’s motivated me to start long-term projects and to commit to a larger vision of what I want to achieve.​

And slowly, taking more than a year, but less time than I expected, things come to fruition.​

Where were you 5 years ago? ​

Back then, would you have believed you’d be where you are now?​

*​

Going back even further:​

About thirteen years ago, when I was in Israel, single, and miserable, stuck in a rut after years of dating, watching my friends get married and feeling like it was never going to happen for me – a trusted mentor asked me to imagine what my life would look like in five years.​

I told her I’d be married, with a couple of kids, building a home of love and peace, and fun…​

As I spoke, I was shocked at how real this picture felt to me as I spoke it into words.​

For the first time, the future felt like a destination I was heading towards. I didn’t know all the details, but I knew it was there. I could see it in the distance, waiting for me to make my way to it.​

*​

Later that year, on a Friday night I prayed in the women’s gallery of the Aish synagogue in Jerusalem. I had just gotten engaged.​

I remember marveling at the years of painful loneliness that I’d lived with, grown used to – and were no longer with me, suddenly part of the past.​

And feeling a surprising sense of loss that it was time to say goodbye to the loneliness that had become like a second skin. Time to move onto new feelings, new adventures, and new challenges.​

I realized that my years of pain had opened a door for me to a deep and spiritual connection that I never would have found otherwise. ​

Now, in my joy, the door was closing, and I would have to struggle to find that connection elsewhere.​

That dark period in my life meant something; though I’d never want to go through it again, it had strengthened me and made me who I am.

*​

I think back to my wedding day and the giant pain that was now gone, still wondering how they were both part of the same thing.

The journey, the ups and downs, the darkness…​

The destination, the “having-arrived”, the looking back on how far you’ve come…​

And the setting your sights on a new goal, realizing that there’s still a long way to go, and the destination was really just a rest stop.​

*

Oh, life.​

Oh how it moves me, as I move through it!