The Lie of Someday

Waiting for the perfect moment is just hiding. Time doesn’t wait. Neither should we.

I often catch myself standing still—not because I have no direction, but because I’m fixated on a distant future that doesn’t exist. I hesitate to begin, to continue, to finish—not because I can’t, but because I believe I’m not yet enough.

“I’m not ready,” I tell myself.

“This painting will never be perfect.”

“If I touch it now, I might ruin everything.”

So I wait. For the mythical “later.” For the version of me who will finally be ready. But moment after moment passes, and that perfect future never comes. What I believed was self-protection turns out to be self-sabotage.

Because here’s the truth:

There is no better time than now.

There is no place more sacred than here.

No moment in life ever repeats exactly. Even the most ordinary day is filled with unrepeatable details—the way the light touches a wall, the tone of a loved one’s voice, the feeling of your own breath. Tomorrow, the sun will shine at a different angle. The people you love will change—or leave. You will become someone new with every breath.

And so, the waiting must end.

When we resist the now, we resist the only real thing we have. The past is memory. The future is speculation. But the breath—this breath—is reality.

We are infinite beings having a finite experience, and our only way back to that infinite truth is to be fully present.

No more waiting for a better version of yourself to arrive.

No more pausing life until the fear is gone.

This is it.

The present is here.

The present is now.

A Poem: The Only One

I linger in the shadowed gleam

Of some imagined future dream,

Where I’ll be braver, better, whole—

A flawless self, a polished soul.

I hold my breath, delay the start,

Afraid that I might mar the art.

My hands stay still, my voice goes numb,

All waiting for a day to come.

But moments pass, and none return.

The candles flicker. Lessons burn.

And in the silence, I can see—

That “someday” is a fallacy.

The sun won’t rise the way it did.

The words we spoke, the tears we hid,

The fleeting touch, the chance to try—

They vanish as the hours fly.

No echo of this breath remains.

No second chance to feel the same.

Each beat, each blink, each quiet vow—

Exists within the sacred now.

The truth is not in what might be.

The truth is here, inside of me.

Not in the fear, or hope, or when—

But in this breath I take again.

So let me live with open hands,

And meet the day with no demands.

For time will never wait somehow—

The only time is always now.