Make Life Fun, Tomorrow Isn't Guaranteed

The rain fell softly on the tin roof of the old van, tapping out a rhythm that sounded like a lullaby for dreamers. Inside, the air smelled faintly of cinnamon and gasoline. The windows fogged slightly as steam rose from a mismatched mug of chamomile tea resting on the dashboard. Outside, the world rolled by in blurs of green hills and wet asphalt.

Rae leaned back in the passenger seat and stared out at the misty countryside, legs propped on the dashboard, a notebook resting on her lap. The pages were full of doodles, song lyrics, to-do lists that never got done, and one sentence written at the top of every new page like a reminder she didn't want to forget:

"Make life fun. Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed."

She had written it down the day she quit her job. Not out of bitterness or drama. Just... release. After years of routines, deadlines, and beige office walls, something inside her had snapped quietly. It was a whisper at first — Is this it? Then louder — What if I just left? And finally, undeniable — I need to feel alive again.

That was six months ago.

Since then, Rae had been living in her converted van, chasing sunrises and random music festivals, photographing abandoned buildings, and meeting strangers who turned into friends. She never stayed anywhere too long. Not because she was running away, but because she was finally running toward something — though she still didn’t know what that was.

She had spent the morning parked beside a small lake, sipping coffee and watching dragonflies dance across the water. A boy about ten years old had wandered by with a kite nearly twice his size, and when it refused to fly, Rae had helped him fix the string and run with him until the kite soared above them like a painting in motion. His laughter still echoed in her mind.

Now, as the van rattled gently down a gravel road, the sky darkening with approaching evening, Rae glanced at the driver’s seat — empty.

She was alone today, and she liked it that way sometimes. There had been people who joined her for a week or two, fellow wanderers who needed a break from their own stories. Some she missed. Some she didn’t. That was the beauty of this new life: no pressure to explain yourself, no expectations to fulfill. Just moments — good, bad, messy, beautiful.

She pulled over at a quiet overlook, stepped outside, and was greeted by a sea of golden fields stretching into the horizon. The rain had stopped. The clouds were parting. And there, behind them, the sun began to dip in slow motion, staining the sky with colors so vivid they didn’t seem real.

Rae stood there barefoot in the grass, arms outstretched, breathing deeply as if she could inhale the moment and store it forever.

Suddenly, she laughed — loudly, freely. The kind of laugh that made her feel like herself again. There was no reason. Just joy. Just because.

She danced a little. Spun in place. Got mud on her jeans. Sang a few lines of a song she didn’t remember learning.

Because why not? Who said adults had to be so serious? Who said spontaneity was only for the young?

As she sat back down on the van’s step, wiping raindrops from her notebook, she thought about all the people who were waiting. Waiting for the weekend. Waiting for permission. Waiting for a sign.

She used to be one of them.

She remembered her old coworkers — all amazing people, but constantly living for the next vacation or counting the days until retirement. Rae used to mark off her calendar with red X’s, hoping time would hurry up.

Now she wished time would slow down. Just a little.

She picked up her pen and wrote a new line beneath her usual mantra.

"Fun isn’t a reward — it’s part of being alive."

That night, Rae parked beneath a canopy of stars. She lit a candle, made a peanut butter sandwich, and listened to a playlist of road trip songs. No plan for tomorrow. No need. The world would still be there in the morning.

And if it wasn’t?

She had today. And she had lived it with her whole heart.

Epilogue

Years later, someone would find that notebook in a thrift shop tucked between old guidebooks and used novels. A young woman named Lila, burnt out from college and unsure of what she wanted, would open it and read Rae’s words:

"Make life fun. Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed."

It would be the push she needed to buy a one-way train ticket, start writing songs again, and say “yes” to her dreams instead of waiting for the “right time.”

Because sometimes, the right time is now.