Now and then, I think later is okay.
Sometimes I procrastinate. When will I mow the lawn? Later. Fix the broken shelf? Later. Write more of my novel? Later. And sometimes, later never comes. Not good.
On the other hand, the incessant now tires me out. When should I clean the garage? Now. When is that report due? Now. When would you like the kitchen clean? Now. I hate feeling boxed in, scripted, micromanaged, and overscheduled. Even worse, when something ought to have been done… yesterday.
I was born a full month early, and ever since I’ve hated being rushed. I like pacing myself. Not everything has to be done now. It really doesn’t. I like being on time. Not late, not early, on time.
Today I have an hour between a wall of scheduled stuff. Just an hour. And I’m really tired. I need to rest today. My boys both wanted me for something. Later, I said. This week. I just have to get through today. Later.
I know I need this hour. I know later will save my emotional gas tank. But it’s hard to say later and truly mean it. And its even harder to make sure later doesn’t become “still later” or worse, “never.” It has to become now sooner or later, or later becomes a kind of lie.
See you later.