The art of having wanted things happen at the right time, if they happen at all, is unparalleled. It is not unlike this column, which has been carefully written and stored days in advance, but will hopefully speak to you on the day you end up reading it, along with all the other news that has accrued over the course of an evening. How much changes in the few hours between when the printing press starts and when you read your paper over cereal and milk?

We are not here for very long: the library eventually closes, our swipe cards expire, classes run out and our friends move away. My time to plan here is running out. And in fact, when I think of everything I'll want to do in the future--everything I should make sure to plan--the one thing I can say I'll want for certain is free time. Time to fill with whatever project I'm in the middle of, whatever book I've meant to read or late-night meal I've been wanting to cook. I have never lamented the sudden appearance of a free hour.

Of course I want work, vacations, significant people of all kinds, lots of sunshine and several blocks of libraries. But I have learned better than to pencil these in: Besides living by libraries, developing your instinct for choices and taking your chances can be more trustworthy than plans anyone--even you--developed years ago, before you knew what you know now.

Ten years from now, I plan to fill my Tuesday evenings with free time. Sound good? You'll probably need reservations: Let me know by Wednesday and I'll save you a spot.

Maryanthe E. Malliaris '01 is a mathematics concentrator in Lowell House. Her column appears on alternate Tuesdays.