Someplace between “I might have” and “possibly sometime,” total lives vanish. Potential untapped. Desires deferred till they dissolve. The unstated tragedies of on a regular basis individuals are not those made of fireside and noise, however of sluggish erosion—objectives we postpone, passions we silence, and truths we bury beneath obligations, concern, and fatigue.
We hardly ever discover when it begins. The primary time we are saying, “I’ll do it later,” we imagine it. Later appears like a promise. But it surely’s a trick mirror: later turns into subsequent month, which turns into subsequent yr, which quietly dies within the graveyard of intentions.
The Quiet Seduction of Sometime
“Sometime I’ll write that ebook.”
“Sometime I’ll depart this job.”
“Sometime I’ll inform her how I actually really feel.”
Sometime is a velvet coffin—snug, undisturbing, and lined with simply sufficient hope to lull us to sleep. However sometime just isn’t a date. It’s not marked in your calendar. It requires no dedication, no threat, and no discomfort. That’s why it’s so interesting. It lets us really feel like we’re nonetheless within the sport, with out ever having to get our palms soiled.
A buddy of mine—let’s name her Claire—as soon as dreamed of transferring out of Utah and reside a extra metropolitan life-style. She would discuss it each time we met, her voice lighting up as she described the small residence overlooking the Pacific, the every day espresso home go to, the Spanish she swore she was going to be taught. She began taking a language class on the neighborhood faculty in Taylorsville. She bookmarked Airbnbs. She even picked out the identify of the black cat she’d undertake.
That was thirty years in the past.
She nonetheless lives in the identical metropolis, in the identical neighborhood. She hasn’t visited a California seashore in a few years. Her Spanish? Rusted from disuse. Claire’s dream didn’t die in a blaze of heartbreak—it simply light. That’s how most goals go. Not with a bang. With a mild, unremarkable sigh.
The Different Aspect: Remorse in Retrograde
“Coulda, woulda, shoulda.”
That is the mantra of hindsight. Remorse’s lullaby. And it exhibits up when “sometime” turns into “too late.”
Discuss to somebody of their seventies or eighties—actually discuss to them—and pay attention. To not their accomplishments, to not the rehearsed tales they’ve advised at events. Pay attention for the silences. The half-sentences. The sudden change of topic.
“I used to be going to…”
“I had this opportunity as soon as…”
“There was this woman I knew…”
These are the echoes of unlived lives. Of doorways that have been open as soon as and by no means once more. We deal with time like a vast stability, and by the point we understand we’ve overdrawn, it’s not cash we’ve misplaced—it’s the opportunity of turning into who we’d have been.
The Lie of Later
The world doesn’t care about our greatest intentions. There aren’t any factors awarded for good concepts left untouched or emotions by no means expressed. There’s no reward for the marketing strategy nonetheless sitting in a pocket book or the apology drafted a dozen occasions however by no means despatched.
And but we maintain saying we’ll get round to it. Later. When issues calm down. When the children are grown. When the mortgage is paid. Once we lose ten kilos. Once we lastly really feel “prepared.”
However readiness is a fantasy. Life is not going to ship an invite. Nobody achieves confidence by ready for the celebrities to align. You progress first, and the readability follows.
A Story with Enamel
A person I knew nicely and frolicked with within the 90’s, Joe (that’s his actual identify), was a fiercely clever, considerate, however a quietly tormented soul. He needed to start out his personal artwork studio however stayed at a secure, if numbing, job for twenty years. Each time I noticed him, I’d ask how the dream was going, and he’d grin, scratch his neck, and say, “Nonetheless cooking.”
At 59, he lastly give up. He was bored with ready, bored with listening to his personal excuses. I helped him discover a new house in rural Arizona, the place he launched his studio, did his greatest work ever, and was dwelling his dream—lastly in movement, lastly alive.
By no means wanting fame or fortune, he continues at the moment to benefit from the easy pleasure of inventive creation.
The Language of Delay
Coulda: I had the prospect.
Woulda: I needed to.
Shoulda: I knew higher.
All previous tense. All decay.
Someday. Some day.
All future tense. All deflection.
We reside our lives in these tenses and miss the current, the place change can truly occur. The place threat, failure, magnificence, pleasure, and reinvention reside.
Rewriting the Script
There’s a language extra harmful than hate. Extra seductive than love. It’s the language of delay, wearing good motive. It asks nothing of you besides postponement. It permits you to maintain your satisfaction whereas robbing you blind.
However there’s one other language. It doesn’t sound like a motivational poster. It’s quiet. Insistent. Trustworthy. It speaks in actions, not affirmations.
It seems like: “Right this moment.”
It seems like: “Now.”
It seems like: “Sufficient.”
You don’t should say it out loud. You simply should reside it.
Closing Thought
There are solely two sorts of ache in the long run: the ache of self-discipline or the ache of remorse. One is tough. The opposite is haunting.
So ask your self: which aspect of the coin are you flipping do you really need? It isn’t probability. It’s selection.
And extra importantly, when will you cease flipping and place a wager on your self?
Since you don’t get endlessly. You simply get now.
And now’s all you ever wanted.
© 2025 Linda Allen
