“Someday” might be my least favorite word in the English language.
It’s the word that prevents so many from trying so much. It’s the word that results in lament and regret. “Someday” causes people to live small lives filled with wishes and dreams and delay and inaction.
“Someday” is the word that allows people to wait until it’s too late.
“Someday” is why two of the greatest regrets expressed by people at the end of life (according to hospice workers) are “I wish I’d taken more risks” and “I wish I’d lived my own dream.”
“Someday” is fool’s gold. It’s a horizon that will never come. A wish never fulfilled.
I’m working on a nonfiction book proposal which would effectively eliminate “someday” from a person’s vocabulary. It’s a book about how to make the most of every day in an authentic, realistic, and very doable way.
Oddly, unexpectedly, and unintentionally, it also just occurred to me that my next novel, Twenty-one Truths About Love, is also an assault on the notion of “someday.”
I guess I really do hate the word.