Now or Never

It was a rainy Tuesday morning when I stood on the edge of a choice that would change everything.

The smell of wet asphalt drifted through the cracked window of the cramped city bus. I sat in the same seat I always did—third row from the front, left side, just behind the yellow pole. This had been my routine for the past three years. Wake up at 6:30, barely eat breakfast, board the 7:15 bus to the downtown office, work a 9-to-6 shift I hated, and ride the 7:10 bus back—tired, drained, numb.

I worked as a data entry clerk at a finance firm. It paid the bills but robbed my soul. Every day, I stared at the same spreadsheets, processed meaningless reports, and smiled at the same people who forgot my name when the coffee machine broke. I had dreams once—of being a writer, of traveling, of starting something that mattered. But somewhere between rent and responsibility, those dreams had been folded away like winter clothes—kept in storage for “someday.”

But “someday” never came. It never does—unless you chase it.

That morning was different, though I didn’t know it yet.

I had spent the previous night staring at a message in my inbox. It was from an online magazine I admired. I had submitted a short essay weeks ago, unsure if it would even be read. The email said:

“We loved your voice. Would you be open to a freelance column with us?”

My heart raced. It was what I always wanted. But then, reality set in. My job was secure. This wasn’t. They only promised one article per week to start. No guarantees. No benefits. No security. I was already behind on bills. How could I throw away stability for a ‘maybe’?

The rain was now hitting the bus window harder, matching the rhythm of my anxious thoughts.

As I stepped off the bus, I saw the same coffee cart guy, the same crosswalk guard, the same guy yelling into his Bluetooth about quarterly targets. Everything was painfully familiar.

Then it happened.

I saw a man on the sidewalk collapse. Just like that—no warning, no sound—he hit the ground, his umbrella skidding away. People rushed to him, someone yelled to call 911. I stood frozen for a moment. A woman knelt beside him, shouting, “Sir! Are you okay?”

Later I found out he had suffered a heart attack. He didn’t survive.

I didn’t know him. But I couldn’t stop thinking about him all day.

He looked around my age—late thirties. Dressed in business attire. Probably headed to work, thinking about his inbox, his meetings, his lunch order. And just like that, gone. No second chances. No final conversations. No “someday.”

I left the office early that day. I didn’t tell anyone. I walked home in the rain. Soaking, shivering—but awake in a way I hadn’t been in years.

The questions kept circling in my head:

If that had been me, what would I regret?

Would I be proud of the life I was living—or ashamed of the chances I never took?

Was I really living—or just surviving?

That night, I sat at my tiny kitchen table, opened my laptop, and replied to the magazine’s email.

“Yes. I’d love to write for you. Let me know how to get started.”

I hit send. My hands were shaking. Fear and excitement warred inside me. I didn’t quit my job that night. But I started planning to. I cut back on expenses. Took freelance gigs on the side. Wrote during lunch breaks, on weekends, late into the night. Slowly, my writing career began to build. It wasn’t easy. There were rejections, setbacks, months where I barely scraped by.

But I was alive. I felt purpose again. I felt like myself again.

Six months later, I left my desk job.

Two years later, I published my first book.

And just last month, I stood on stage at a local event, sharing this very story with others who felt stuck in their lives. The applause wasn’t just for the story—it was for the reminder it gave them.

That the window doesn’t stay open forever. That waiting for the perfect time is the fastest way to waste your life.

Moral of the Story:

We all have a moment—a choice point—where we’re faced with something that scares us, challenges us, or invites us to become more than we are. Most of us postpone it, waiting for more money, more clarity, more certainty.

But the truth is, life rarely gives you a perfect moment.

You must decide: Now or Never.

Sometimes, one brave step in an uncertain direction is the beginning of everything.