Waiting for the Perfect Moment While Life Quietly Slips Past Me

I keep telling myself I’m waiting. Waiting for the right time. The right headspace. The right mood. The right amount of money or energy or clarity. The perfect moment.

I tell myself it’s responsible. That I’m being smart. Cautious. Intentional. I tell myself I just need a little more time. More healing. More certainty. More proof that things will go how I want them to. But deep down?

I know. I’m not waiting. I’m hiding. I’m stalling. I’m scared. And while I keep waiting for things to line up perfectly, life keeps happening. People I love are growing older. Opportunities are drifting past. Moments that could’ve been memories are becoming regrets.

And I hate it.

Because there’s this quiet ache inside me. A sense that I’m watching my life from behind glass. That I’m observing instead of living. Like I’m always “almost ready,” but never quite.

The perfect moment is seductive.

It promises ease. Certainty. No risk. No rejection. No mess. It tells me that if I just wait long enough, I’ll somehow arrive at the version of myself who isn’t afraid. Who has it all figured out. Who knows exactly what to do and how to do it.

But that version of me? She doesn’t exist. Because life doesn’t wait for readiness. And readiness doesn’t come from standing still. Readiness comes from doing the thing scared. From saying yes even when your voice shakes.
From showing up before you feel worthy.
From letting the imperfect moment be enough.

I’ve missed chances to love.
To be loved.
To try something bold and watch it fail and survive it anyway.
I’ve missed adventures that didn’t fit into my five-year plan.
I’ve missed writing things because I didn’t think they were “good enough” yet.
I’ve missed connections because I was too focused on controlling how I showed up.

And the worst part is…No one tells you when the perfect moment was.

You only realize it later when it’s too late. You look back and think, That was it. That could’ve been it. But I waited.

I've been wondering lately what’s underneath the waiting? It’s not laziness. It’s not a lack of ambition.
It’s fear.

Fear of failing.

Fear of being seen and not chosen.
Fear of messing it up.
Fear of wasting time or getting it wrong.

And ironically, that fear of wasting time? It ends up wasting more time than anything else. Paralysis is its own kind of heartbreak.

I’m starting to realize that perfect is just another word for never.

That it’s safer to dream than to try.
That waiting until I’m “ready” is just my fear wearing a responsible face.

But I don’t want to wait my whole life to live it.

I don’t want to keep standing at the edge, convincing myself I need just one more sign.
I don’t want to look back and realize I played it safe instead of showing up.

So maybe the perfect moment is the one that’s here. Messy. Unfinished. Uncertain.
But real.

Maybe it’s not about doing the big thing.
Maybe it’s saying the hard truth today.
Or hitting publish even when it’s not polished.
Or texting someone you miss without knowing how they’ll respond.
Or applying for the job you think is out of reach.
Or telling someone you’re not okay.

The thing is that life isn’t waiting. I began to see it. Maybe it's the age, or the month, or the new year ahead. I don't know, but life is moving. And I want to move with it. Even if I’m clumsy. Even if I’m not sure.

I want to stop waiting for the perfect moment and start trusting that this moment, this flawed, unglamorous, uncertain one...is enough.

Because I’m tired of watching my life through a window.
I want to be in it.
Even if I’m scared.
Even if I fail.
Even if it hurts.

At least I’ll know I lived. Do you?

I hope you enjoy reading this blog post. If you'd like to explore it more deeply, read more in this series of thoughts.