This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2016, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

As the days of my LDS mission wound down in April 1975, I started thinking about my future. It seemed a good idea, given that most of the authority figures throughout my life suggested I probably didn't have one.

But there was the possibility that they were wrong. I was closing in on an incredible run of luck — two years without being fired, arrested, suspended, expelled, shot or even yelled at all that much. That left me having to consider the future.

What was I going to do with myself when wearing a necktie ended? It's something most young people should at least consider planning for. If nothing else, it's good for a laugh later.

One afternoon, kicked back in front of an open window of a ratty apartment, I watched leaves falling in a southern hemisphere autumn and wrote in my journal.

"Less than a week left. What now? The president said we should have a written plan."

The military was out. Vietnam was falling and there wasn't much call for cannon fodder anymore. I wasn't interested in college, and the absolute last thing I wanted was more of what I had just spent the last two years doing — sales.

Failing to come up with anything, I tried reversing the process. Where could I see myself in, oh, say 25 years?

Back then, the year 2000 seemed almost a lifetime away. It was. I'd be 47 years old, or close to dead from old age. Forty-seven was almost a half century.

I decided to try and imagine myself in 2015. It seems an arbitrary number to pick, but I actually put some rudimentary thought into it.

For example, I didn't consider where I would be in 2075. That would have made me 122, and I was at least smart enough then to know that was impossible.

There were also problems with lesser numbers. Thanks to a variety of prior issues, I'd already put some really unhealthy miles on myself. No way was I living to the age of 90.

Eighty was within reach, but my grandfather who lived that long might just as well have been dead for all the presence of mind he had left.

Fifty years into the future seemed doable. I would be in my early 70s, and maybe still lucid enough to know whether or not I had just peed my pants.

I settled on 2015 because it was only 40 years away and seemed realistic if I behaved myself. No more drugs, marry the right woman, cut back on the jackass stuff, a little luck — I might just live that long.

Other elders I'd served with had serious doubts about the world lasting another 40 years. The Second Coming would take care of our futures. Just look at all the flippin' signs of the times, Elder.

Pathologically cynical and argumentative, I found this an entirely idiotic way of considering the future. The Lord wasn't exactly dependable when it came to scheduling. People had been planning on his return for 2,000 years.

I wrote: "I don't know what I'll be doing 40 years from now. Maybe there's another depression or war going on. A lot depends on the country. If it's in crappy shape, I'll probably be dead."

So I got it half right. Also, I was a year short. I hadn't considered the 2016 presidential election being this awful.

Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com or facebook.com/stillnotpatbagley.