You must be able to look to the future to understand why it is so important to live consciously in the now.

I was just sitting on the bus in Lisbon, and I had this thought.

My mom recently told me something about myself as a child, and I thought about how I want to tell it to a certain person the next time I see them.

And then today I thought: I have to really, really remember all these things about my child, if I ever become a mom.

Because I want to be able to tell all these stories. I want my child to be able to hear about their childhood from me, the way I hear things from my parents today.

And then I realised something: In order to even understand why it’s important to remember this now, we have to be able to think into the future.

Not look into the future. Think into the future.

I have to be able to imagine a future version of myself, sitting somewhere, someday, with her child, telling them all these stories, so that I can understand today why I want to remember life’s moments in such detail.

And I think that’s actually how I live quite a lot of my life. That’s why I take so many photos. That’s why I make so many videos. That’s why I love to listen so deeply. That’s why I reflect so much. That’s why I write things down.

That’s why I tell stories and share so much of my life.

Even my Instagram Story Archive is now basically just a huge collection of moments I can never return to.

And to be honest: it’s not because I want to go back, but to be grateful that I got to experience it, or that I made it through something, and can remember the moments.

Because there’s a difference between wanting to go back somewhere and being grateful to be able to remember that you were once there.

That’s just how my mind works.

That’s how my memory works.

With every photo I take and every video I record, I connect so many things. Stories, emotions, people, a place, a feeling.

I can watch any random video from a few years ago and it takes me right back. Not just to the place. Mentally, too. And interpersonally.

I remember again who was around me then. I remember again what was going on in my life. What was important and what was perhaps too important, or not yet important enough. I know what frustrated me and what brought me joy. What hurt. What was wrong and what was right. I know what no one else understood, and I knew that it didn't have to matter to me, because one day they would understand—or they wouldn't, and then it would be irrelevant to me anyway. And what I thought back then, and what I imagined would happen next.

And I find that so valuable.

Because sometimes I look back and think: Wow. I’ve been there. I’ve felt that way before. I’ve gone through that before. All of that didn't work out, but then this did. I've already survived things when, at the time, I had no idea how I would ever make it through. I’ve already loved so deeply. I’ve already been so incredibly grateful. I’ve already been a completely different version of myself.

And I’ve already grown into a hundred new versions of myself, but I often lose track of the journey as a whole. Until a picture reminds me again.

And at my core, I have not only remained the same, but the closer I have come to God, the more I have become my "true self".

And then there are the patterns. You look back over years of your own life and recognise things you never could have recognised while you were in the midst of it. Patterns in yourself. Patterns in relationships. Patterns in your thinking and in how and why your identity has been shaped. Patterns in your decisions. Patterns in how you have developed, and why.

And I find that so incredible, somehow, because it turns the whole thing into a cycle.

I think about the future, and because I can think about the future, I understand why I want to experience the present so consciously and hold on to it as a clear memory.

Because this present moment will one day become my past.

I look back on my past, and in doing so, I understand the present a little better today.

And because I understand myself better, I can live my future even more consciously.

And then the whole thing starts all over again.

That's why I don't believe that thinking about the future automatically takes us out of the present moment. In fact, I believe the exact opposite.

I believe our ability to think about the future can help us to live in the present with true awareness in the first place.

And I also don’t believe that taking photos or videos automatically means you’re “not living in the moment.”

At least, that's not what it means for me.

Sometimes I take a photo precisely because I am so aware that I am in this moment.

Because I already know: This will not be my life forever. This place will not be my home forever. These people will not be around me forever. But this will be relevant someday, perhaps even more relevant than it is right now.

And I will not be this version of myself forever. And I simply don't know what else life has in store. And that's completely okay. I don't have to hold on to it. But I want to know that it was.

And then there is another side to this thought that I find really important to take seriously. Because once you start to look at your life this way, you can no longer live it unconsciously.

Because you realize: This is already the story. It’s already happening. This completely random Wednesday is part of my unique, important lifeline. This conversation is part of my life. This person I just met is part of my life. This decision is part of my life.

This strange little chapter, the one I currently think I just have to “get through,” is literally part of the movie & the opening credits for a new chapter it’s opening up – simply because that’s what’s happening right now.

And I have no idea what significance any of it will have someday, or what other storyline will grow out of it. That’s the wild thing. But I know for a fact that it will have meaning. Because everything does, every single second.

Today, I can watch an old video and know exactly what happened next. But the woman in that video? She had absolutely no idea.

And right now? I’m her again. And so are you—her, or him.

You don’t know what’s coming next.

You don’t know which person will play what role in your life ten years from now, or what you’ll be like in 10 years. We don’t even know if we’ll still be here on this earth in 10 years.

You don’t know yet which completely random encounter will change everything.

You don’t know which ending will one day turn out to be a beginning, and which beginning will lead to which end.

You don’t know which completely normal day will one day become a memory you’ll look back on for the rest of your life.

And somehow, that’s exactly what makes me want to be careful with myself and my life. Absolutely not anxious. And not by trying to control everything.

But consciously and deliberately.

Because every person counts. Every encounter counts. Every chapter counts.

Not because everything has to become something huge. But simply because it happened. Because it became a part of this one life.

And for me, that’s the whole point.

I don’t think we have to spend all our time trying to make every moment especially valuable. I think we’re allowed to simply understand that it already is.

So take the picture. Make the video. Write the story down. Ask your family something.

Really listen when someone tells you something about their life. Remember what the room felt like.

Notice who you are right now.

Because someday, you might look back on this exact version of yourself and understand things she can’t possibly understand today. And that future version of you will only be able to draw on what you were conscious enough to notice and perhaps record today.

Perhaps our ability to think about the future is the very thing that allows us to understand just how much we’re allowed to let the present count.