Next?

I looked in the mirror yesterday and my reflection gazed back. It looked old. Greying hair, ashen skin. The latter largely due to the coating of dust layered across my skin, but it painted an unflattering portrait of things to come. I've become increasingly aware of the pull of the future. It's gravity increases with every passing day and month and year, drawing my gaze away from the past and the now, forcing me to contemplate what comes next. And I don't know what comes next.

I've never worked for my future, never planned for it, never set myself goals of what I should accomplish and when. Never had to. I look at the accomplishments of others with envy and silently curse my indecisiveness and laziness. I've gotten this far by leaping from stone to stone, from lily pad to lily pad, mostly accepting the paths before me. I've managed to take an interesting diversion or two along the way when circumstance forced a decision upon me, but mostly I've followed the direction of the prevailing wind. It's not something I can continue to do forever. My luck won't hold out that long.

I'm not sure which I fear more at the moment: the effort involved in actually trying to do something worthwhile, or the prospect of failure in such an endeavour.