We spend a lot of time imagining what could go wrong—or what could go right. Whether we’re worrying about disasters or dreaming up something bold, both are ways of looking beyond the present. But in the end, what we do with our time right now is what counts.
According to astrophysicists, our sun will enter its red giant phase in about five billion years and swallow the Earth. By then, of course, all traces of humanity will be gone—every Michelangelo, every cathedral, every book ever printed. And, yes, all the idiotic things we’ve created alongside our masterpieces. In short, humanity as we know it will have vanished.
When I first learned this at around age twelve, I was distraught. I shared my feelings with my father, who laughed and said, “What does it matter? You and everyone you’ve ever known will be long gone!”
He had a point, I suppose. Still, the thought unsettled me. It’s a good example of how far our minds can go to find something to worry about. One thing I’ve learned about worry: there’s no limit to it.
During my time as a business strategist, we often worked on benefit-risk analyses and SWOT diagrams—those exercises where you run through all the “what ifs.” What if there’s another pandemic? What if the building burns down?
No matter how extreme our scenarios were, reality always managed to throw us curveballs we hadn’t imagined. That’s the idea behind the Black Swan theory—some events are beyond prediction, but afterward we come up with neat explanations to make sense of them.
Now, with age, I worry less about the what-ifs. I once read a mathematician’s argument that it’s statistically unlikely we’re living at the end of time. So, mega-volcanoes under Yellowstone or planet-killing asteroids? Maybe not worth obsessing over.
Instead, I try to focus on bold, ambitious dreams. At the art center I co-founded, we swim in those kinds of dreams—it’s the water we’re used to.
But not everyone feels that way. Some colleagues still get stuck on what might go wrong. And they’re not wrong—success isn’t guaranteed. We have to stay focused if we want our big, hairy dreams to come true. Dreaming isn’t just cloud-watching.
I’ve noticed some people lean more toward risk than possibility. Like someone critiquing art by pointing out what’s missing rather than seeing what’s there, worriers often miss the bigger picture. And in doing so, they might let some dreams pass them by.
I’d never tell anyone not to be cautious. But I would say: look closely at your fears. Ask yourself—are they keeping you from something important?
Both dreaming and worrying are ways of looking ahead. But in this incredible present moment, we have a choice. The sun will burn out someday. Our lives will end. But for now, let’s live—and dream—big.
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