I’m curious what you dopers think life will be like in 20 years, or more particularly, you’re life. I hope I’m living somewhere as safe as I feel I am now, with my SO, a nice doggie, and some cash in the bank. I just hope the 20-somethings now who will be 40-somethings then, will treat us old folks well 
Exhausting.
If current plans go as scheduled, we’ll have two kids (and who knows what animals or other kids) in their mid-late teens. That alone would be exhausting, but add to that work as a teacher (I am told that it involves more than eight hours a day…) and whatever activism work still needs doing. I’m sure there’s something I’m forgetting.
I’ll have 2 kids in college (I hope anyway)
I also hope this house is paid off by then!
Maybe I will have gone back to school? I would like to anyway…
I’ll be a lonely old man.
I’ll be dead, I hope. I can’t afford to live to be that old!
I’ll be leading cemetary tours of pilgrims to Eve’s grave…
No actually, I figure my parents will be dead by then (they’d be pushing 90 at that point) and I’ll have received a sizable inheritance. So I’ll be retired from whatever crap job I’ll have and living off their estate.
Over!
If I follow my father’s example, I will have been dead for two years. 
:eek:
Otherwise, I hope to have managed a satisfactory recovery from the trainwreck my life is right now (even though depressed, I am an optimist). Hopefully, one of my hobbies will have turned into a moneymaking source of income. I will regularly be having sex with someone I think is incredibly attractive whom I don’t think I deserve (but do what I can to be worthy of anyway). I will have at least one dog (but probably no more than two), both of them rescued from the pound. In my driveway will be a car that accelerates and handles better than anything I’ve previously owned, be economical to operate, roomy and comfortable, and ecologically sound enough that even the guys in Sierra Club will beam with admiration as I drive by.
–SSgtBaloo
Hmm.
I will be 60 years old, bitter, depressed, occasionally (if feebly) enraged, and still employed. My son will be in college, my dog will be dead, and my wife will yell at her mother. My parents will be long in their graves, my siblings will be pretty damn old, and my neflings will have exploded into a constellation of humorous bleeding-heart misanthropes.
Yeah, that sounds like me too.
I’ll be married, settled in a rural suburbia, maybe with a couple of kids, Gunslinger out doing his freelance photog stuff and me sitting at home e-commuting or something. I want to live like Lileks.
I’ll probably be a quirky, introverted, socially-maladjusted, space-cased, brooding, bitter, sarcastic, facetious, harsh, vindictive, insomniatic recluse.
I’ll be flying loads of tourists on spacdeflights for Burt Rutan and company, making regular posts in the BBQ Pit about the *%$@! tourists puking in free-fall and committing acts of stupidity.
So no change then.
Quiet.
I’ll be in an urn.
I’ll be 59. Single, but living with a like-minded fella, and [having sold my parent’s house and ‘land’ as two lots], living in a modest little bungalow overlooking the sea, with a couple of hundred neutered/spayed feral/abandoned cats and dogs lounging around. And maybe a horse. A widescreen TV and all the latest gadgets of the day. And a bicycle. And I’ll have had two books of my photographs published. And been the co-creator/producer/writer of a moderately successful TV series. Oh and I’ll definitely have had an affair with some celebrity or other.
and then againa meteor is supposed to hit sometime in March 2014, so that all may well be moot.
Working and pursuing my hobbies and interests. Just like I will be in 20 years after that, and 20 years following that. etc.
I do believe the meteor strike you are referring to was a media hype: http://www.space.com/scienceastronomy/asteroid_norisk_030903.html
The chances are pretty low, nearing zero. 
My son will be out of college, so it will be just the two of us. We’ll have sold our house in the city and moved to a ranch south of town with plenty of space for our horses. Of course, that’s assuming that there aren’t new subdivisions all the way from here to Bakersfield. In that case, I think we’ll pack up and move to Ireland.
Hopefully I’ll be living in a city on the Moon with a flying car and a robotic man-servant.
Hopefully.