Some dreams do not die. They simply wait—sometimes longer than they should.

The notebook was older than Mariam remembered.

Its edges had yellowed with age, and the once-bright cover had faded into a dull shade of blue. She found it one rainy Saturday afternoon while searching through a box of old documents tucked away in the corner of her wardrobe. At first, she almost ignored it. There was nothing remarkable about the notebook. It was simply one of many forgotten things collected over the years.

Yet something compelled her to open it.

As she turned the pages, she discovered a younger version of herself staring back at her through neat handwriting and carefully organized plans. There were goals, aspirations, and dreams she had once held with extraordinary conviction. Some were ambitious, others surprisingly simple.

Start a consulting business.
Apply for a master’s degree abroad.
Write a book.
Learn a new language.
Launch a community project.

Mariam smiled as she read them. Then her smile slowly disappeared.Many of those dreams remained exactly where she had left them years earlier - on paper.

The consulting business had never moved beyond a collection of ideas. The book existed only as scattered notes saved across different devices. The applications she had once planned to submit had never been completed. Even the language she had promised herself she would learn remained unfamiliar.

For several moments, she sat in silence, listening to the soft rhythm of rain against her window. What unsettled her was not the number of unfinished goals. It was the realization that nearly every one of them had been postponed for the same reason.

She had been waiting for the right time. 

The phrase had accompanied her through much of her adult life.

When finances improved, she would begin.
When work became less demanding, she would begin.
When she gained more confidence, she would begin.
When life felt more stable, she would begin.

The future, in her imagination, was always a better place to start than the present.

At the time, the reasoning had seemed sensible. Preparation was responsible. Caution was wise. Patience was admirable. She was not avoiding her dreams, she told herself. She was simply waiting until circumstances became favourable.

Yet sitting there with the notebook in her hands, Mariam found herself confronting a question she had never seriously considered.

What if the problem was not timing?
What if the problem was waiting?