Have you ever looked at historic versions of possible futures—predictions about the 21^st century made in the 19^th century?  Like the ones showing us heating our homes with radium, wearing copper helmets while playing croquet under water or spending summer vacations at a North Pole, sans icebergs. Okay, that last one’s a little too close for comfort…

We can poke fun at the Victorians, but I don’t think contemporary outlines of the future are any more accurate.

Recently, I read an essay on the future of space travel. It made that grand adventure sound safer than a theme park ride that would only get cheaper and more luxurious over time. Lunch on Ganymede and an after-dinner fly-by of the rings of Saturn? No prob.

Seriously?

 My point is this:  the future rarely works out the way we think it will, in our personal lives as well as events in the greater scheme of things.

So if we can’t hope for any sort of accuracy in the predictive arts, where does that leave us? Perhaps answers might be found in the foggy dreams of science fiction writers.

In The Gift of a Dream, Dean Wesley Smith gives us his own unique twist on the challenges of aging and space travel.

I can predict, there’s some enjoyment in your future, at least.

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