I’ve been thinking about the word someday a lot lately.
I’m giving a keynote talk soon, on legacy—about how we live now, not just what we leave behind.
It’s written. I’ve been rehearsing it over and over. And somewhere in all that repeating, I realized I needed to listen to my own speech.
It’s a little humbling to stand up and talk about living intentionally when you’re not sure you’ve been living that way yourself.
Someday we’ll take that trip. Someday I’ll call that person. Someday, when things slow down.
I used to think someday was a plan. Now I think it’s just a nice place to put the things I haven’t made room for today.
I should know better.
A few years ago, my husband was diagnosed with a rare leukemia, and our lives went from normal to anything but, overnight.
And it did change me.
For a while, profoundly.
What I didn’t understand then was that even the biggest wake-up calls don’t necessarily keep us awake forever.
Once he was in remission and things settled down, there I was with another project.
My un-retirement.
Because apparently, I can’t sit still for very long.
I threw myself into building a speaking business, a podcast, a whole new chapter—and somewhere along the way became slightly consumed with becoming the Third Act’s Mel Robbins.
No pressure there.
I got so focused on the life I wanted next that I sometimes forgot to live the one I already had.
OUCH!
Turns out this isn’t a lesson you learn once.
One of our somedays was Montana.
My husband and I love to fly-fish, and for years we talked about going.
But after everything we had been through, someday suddenly didn’t feel good enough anymore.
So we went.
And honestly, the trip was more than just a trip.
Standing there watching him out on that river, healthy enough to be there after everything he’d been through, was emotional. It was one of those moments when you know you’re going to remember exactly how you felt.
This. This is what we kept calling someday.
For a while after my husband’s illness, I really did look at life differently. We both did.
We stopped assuming there would be more time. We stopped putting some things off. We became much more aware of now.
And then…
Life became life again.
Little by little, I slipped back.
Someday started sounding reasonable again.
There would be another trip. Another opportunity. A better time. Right after I finished this project or reached that goal or got the next thing off my list.
That’s the part I think I’m finally beginning to understand
Even a life-changing experience doesn’t necessarily change you forever.
You still have to remind yourself.
Maybe especially in this chapter of life.
Because just when you think you’ve figured out what matters, something changes—you, your circumstances, the people you love.
So the check-in has to keep happening.
What matters to me now?
What am I still calling someday?
And someday isn’t only the big trips.
It’s also the quieter stuff: the friend you haven’t called, the class you haven’t taken, the conversation you’ve been avoiding, the yellow sneakers you haven’t worn.
You can fill in your own blank.
I’m not saying everything on the list needs to happen tomorrow. That’s not intentionally living, that’s a mid-life crisis with a credit card.
Some things really do need to wait.
But some things on the someday list don’t belong there anymore.
Maybe you don’t want them.
Maybe they belonged to an earlier version of you, and you’ve just never stopped to check.
So maybe there are two questions, not one:
What am I waiting for that matters enough to stop waiting?
What am I still waiting for that I don’t want anymore?
I’m asking myself both.
I still want the business, the podcast, the ideas out in the world. But I don’t want to get so consumed with what’s next that I miss what’s now.
I’ve already learned how fast now can change.
So I’m trying to retire the word someday.
Trying being the operative word.
I’ll get distracted. I’ll take on another project. I’ll convince myself something’s urgent when it isn’t.
But maybe the goal was never to get this right once and for all.
Maybe it’s just noticing when you’ve drifted. When you’ve gotten so busy with what’s next that you’v stopped paying attention to what’s now.
And then asking the questions again.
I thought I was writing the keynote for a room full of other people.
Turns out, I was writing it for myself.
So I’m looking at my somedays again.
Some I’m letting go.
Some can wait.
But a few have been sitting there long enough.
Because I’ve learned something—and apparently I need to keep learning it—it’s that now deserves a little more of my attention.
I think it’s time.
What are you still calling someday?
