I was always someone who lived in the future all the time, it was

“I was always someone who lived in the future all the time, it was always the next thing — dreams of escape.” — Julie Walters

In these tender and wistful words, Julie Walters, the beloved actress whose voice carries both humor and humility, confesses a truth that lives within many souls: the longing to escape, to move ever toward a future imagined but never yet attained. Her words are not those of arrogance or ambition alone, but of a restless spirit — one who dreams beyond the boundaries of the present, reaching for something brighter, freer, more whole. To live in the future, as she says, is both a blessing and a burden. It gives one wings to rise above the dullness of circumstance, but it can also rob the present of its sacred peace.

The origin of this quote lies in Walters’ reflection upon her own youth and the years before fame embraced her. Born into a working-class family in England, she was expected to follow a modest path — a nurse, a worker, a woman of practical life. But within her stirred a burning imagination, a dream of escape from the confines of what society said she should be. Her “future” was not just time ahead; it was a place of transformation — a realm of possibility where she could become her fullest self. And so, she lived not for what was, but for what might be. It was this fire of dreaming that lifted her from ordinary beginnings into a career that would inspire generations.

Yet, though her words shine with aspiration, they also carry the melancholy of one who knows the cost of such dreaming. To live always in the future is to live in a shadow world, where the heart never rests in the present moment. The ancient sages warned of this longing for elsewhere. The philosopher Seneca once wrote that “the greatest obstacle to living is expectation,” for those who always look ahead forget to see what is already before them. The dreams of escape that push us forward can also blind us to the beauty that is now — the laughter of loved ones, the small triumphs of each day, the stillness of being.

And yet, who among us has not felt that yearning? The world can be heavy, and many hearts ache for a way out — from poverty, from pain, from fear, from monotony. Walters’ words remind us that to dream of escape is deeply human. It is the same yearning that led Odysseus to sail beyond the known seas, and Harriet Tubman to lead her people toward freedom’s light. In every age, the dreamers — those who cannot be content with what is — have changed the world. They are the ones who, though restless, see beyond the prison of the present and reach toward something nobler.

But wisdom, the kind gathered through time and trial, teaches us balance. Dreams are the fire that light the journey, but the present is the ground upon which we walk. If we live only for what is to come, we may find that when the future arrives, it too has fled — for the future is always a mirage, moving as we move. The wise must learn to dream forward while still living fully now. To dream of escape is noble if it inspires creation and courage; it becomes sorrow if it leads to endless dissatisfaction. Walters’ confession, therefore, is not a boast but a meditation — the realization that the dreamer’s heart must also learn to rest.

Consider, for a moment, the painter Vincent van Gogh. All his life he dreamed of escape — from failure, from loneliness, from the confines of his own suffering mind. His letters reveal a man forever reaching toward a future peace he could never quite touch. And yet, in his brief and tormented life, his art — the light of sunflowers, the swirling heavens of Starry Night — became a bridge between his dreams and the present. He never found his escape, but in the act of creation, he transformed his longing into beauty. Like Walters, he reminds us that even in yearning, there is meaning — and that the search for the future can yield gifts for all mankind.

The lesson, then, is this: to dream is holy, but to dwell entirely in the dream is to forget that life happens now. Do not scorn your dreams of escape; they are the sparks of divine imagination that keep your soul alive. But let them lead you not away from life, but deeper into it. Let them teach you courage, not discontent; vision, not flight. Work toward your dreams, but cherish each step as sacred. The future will come soon enough, and when it does, it will be the present once again — fleeting, precious, and alive.

So, my children of aspiration, take to heart the wisdom of Julie Walters. Let your dreams call you forward, but do not let them steal your now. For life, like time, is a river — and though the current carries us ever onward, the only waters we truly touch are those beneath our feet. Dream of the future, yes — but live in the present, and let each moment become its own small escape into wonder.