I believe that in life it is not enough to ask whether something is beautiful, interesting or worth our time. We also need the courage to ask another question: is this what I should be giving priority to now? We can fill our days with activities that, taken individually, have nothing wrong with them, yet neglect the very thing on which the next step in our lives depends.
I do not think we should stop living in order to prepare for life. But I do think that living fully in the present does not mean filling it entirely with what we enjoy. It means meeting its demands as well: learning what we do not yet know, tackling a commitment we have left unfinished, doing something that takes effort today and might give us greater freedom tomorrow.
This is what I call the right time. Not a timetable that is the same for everyone, but the ability to recognise that some things can wait without being lost, while others, continually postponed, end up changing the possibilities open to us.
Not everything that can wait should wait
When we are young, it can seem that there will always be another chance: another exam session, another year to decide, another moment to make a serious start. And often there really is another chance. The problem is thinking that postponement never comes at a cost, that everything remains available on the same terms while we turn our attention elsewhere.
Some paths require continuity. We study better if we do not have to pick up the thread again each time; we become capable through experience; we build trust by keeping small commitments before taking on larger ones. We cannot make up for everything simply by deciding, one day, that we finally feel like it. Even when we can start again, doing so may be harder with greater responsibilities and less support.
This does not mean setting an age by which someone must graduate, find work, marry or already know who they are. Lives do not begin from the same position or move at the same pace. It means, more modestly, not confusing the possibility of catching up with a good reason to put off what we know is necessary.
A full day does not always mean a life moving forward
A person can have a great many interests and very little free time, while doing almost nothing towards the goal they say they have. They read, play music, take part in sport, organise get-togethers, begin a course, discover a new passion. They are not standing still: from the outside, they may even seem tireless. Yet the exam still needs preparing for, the choice still needs making, the responsibility still needs accepting.
This is a less obvious form of postponement than idleness, because it can dress itself in worthwhile pursuits. It is easier to justify a day devoted to a respectable interest than a day spent doing nothing. But the question remains: among all the things I have done, have I made room for the one I keep declaring important?
Sometimes I suspect that behind all this activity there is also a fear of putting ourselves to the test. As long as a possibility remains open, we can imagine ourselves capable of anything. Seeing it through means accepting an outcome, a limitation, perhaps a disappointment. Starting something else can seem more appealing than discovering how ready we really are to finish what we have already begun.
Having many interests broadens our lives. Using them to avoid a commitment can leave us standing still. It is not the number of passions that makes the difference: it is the place they occupy in relation to what we have set out to build.
The student, the young woman and a future always being announced
I am thinking, for example, of a student who should have completed his studies some time ago, and who finds energy for everything except getting closer to finishing. He has interests, ideas and enthusiasm. Beside him is a young woman who loves him as he is. She does not ask him for a life of luxury or expect everything to be settled already. She believes in him and in the possibility of moving forward together.
The fact that she loves him does not surprise me, and I do not consider it a mistake. A person does not become worthy of love after graduating, nor is a job the price of having someone beside them. What I wonder is something else: what is he doing with this trust? If he speaks to her of a home, a family, a life together, is he taking any steps towards it, or is he asking her to live indefinitely within his intentions?
Taking longer than expected to complete his degree does not, in itself, justify this judgement. Someone may fall behind because they are working, caring for someone, going through difficulties or have taken the wrong path. What matters is not an entry in a university record: it is the gap, when it depends on our own choices, between what we promise and what we actually devote our days to.
The question ‘What can you offer her?’ is not only about money. It is about being present, loyalty, a willingness to do one's share and a plan whose beginnings both people can at least see. It applies equally to her and to any couple: no one should bear sole responsibility for preparing for tomorrow while the other retains only the freedom to imagine it.
The future as a verb tense
There is a contradiction that strikes me: someone who continually puts things off can talk a great deal about the future. ‘I will do’, ‘I will have’, ‘when I have finished’, ‘when we are settled’. Listening to them, you would think everything was already under way. Looking at the present, though, it is hard to see what is supposed to bring about that change.
Describing what we are going to do can give us some of the satisfaction of having done it in advance. Others approve, encourage us and see in us the person we say we want to become. We too grow attached to that image. But a plan does not move forward because it has been described well: it needs hours previously spent on other things, decisions, specific sacrifices and follow-through.
We do not need to turn every desire into a rigid plan. We need to be able to answer a simple question: what am I doing now to make that future more possible? An exam prepared for, a skill learnt, a job interview attended, a change of direction honestly undertaken. Something small, but whose reality can still be checked once the enthusiasm of the conversation has faded.
The future does not begin when we say ‘I will’. It begins when our ‘I will’ changes something about the way we live today. Otherwise, the calendar changes, but tomorrow remains just as far away.
Our passions are not the enemy
I would not want these thoughts to be read as distrust of people who love many things. Curiosity enriches us. Sport, music, reading and friends can bring balance and meaning even in the most demanding years. And a passion may become the very work worth preparing for: university is not the only path, nor is every different path an escape.
But a passion chosen as a path also demands commitment. Someone who wants to make a living from music must devote themselves to technique too, not just to the feeling of playing whenever they feel like it. Someone who chooses a trade must also learn its repetitive tasks. At a certain point, this is how we recognise a choice: we agree to do even what does not excite us, because it serves what we truly want.
Temporarily putting an interest second does not mean disowning it. It can mean protecting it, by keeping it from becoming the justification we use to neglect something else. I can keep playing music without letting it take time away from exam preparation every afternoon. I can go cycling without consistently giving it all the hours I had set aside for a commitment.
I believe that developing skills, independence and reliability can make more room for our passions too. It does not guarantee a comfortable life or unlimited time, but it can allow us to choose with less dependence and less worry. Passions still enrich the lives of people facing difficulties; we do not have to earn the right to have them. The point is not to ask them to replace the preparation we need.
The time we borrow from others
When we put things off, we are not always spending only our own time. Sometimes there is a parent who continues to support us, a person who gives up a plan of their own while waiting for us, someone who takes on tasks to leave us free to study. We see the hours of freedom; perhaps they also see the hours they are making available.
Receiving help is not a fault, and it does not make us the property of those who help us. Support should not turn into a right to choose someone else's life. But receiving it asks at least for honesty: recognising that it exists, not taking it to be inexhaustible, and not presenting as inevitable a delay we are making no effort to address.
The waiting of those who love us also deserves respect. That person has desires, fears and seasons of their own; they are not a reserve of patience set aside for us. They may choose to accompany us along a difficult path, but they should know which path they are sharing. If we no longer want the same thing, or do not yet know what we want, saying so can be painful. Continuing to make promises so as not to lose the comfort of their presence can be far more so.
A concrete plan is not a guarantee
Preparing does not protect us from everything. We can study hard and still not find work straight away; we can build something and lose it; we can discover that a reasonable choice was not the right one for us. I do not consider success automatic proof of virtue, nor difficulty evidence of laziness.
For me, the difference lies in the willingness to take responsibility for our own part. A concrete plan can still be uncertain, modest or in need of revision. It may even begin with the admission: ‘This path no longer works; I need to change it.’ What distinguishes it from an excuse is that it involves a decision and a next step, rather than just another explanation of why nothing changes.
We must also remember to live while we are building. A friendship, an evening with someone we love, an hour devoted to something that restores us are not necessarily obstacles: they can be part of the life we want to make possible. There would be no sense in preparing for a better tomorrow by consistently emptying every day that comes before it.
The right time therefore calls for a sense of proportion: recognising what deserves priority today, without expecting it to take up everything. And then keeping that commitment even on days when we would rather turn our attention elsewhere. That is where preparation happens, not only in the moments when the future excites us.
What I would like to leave my children
My children, I would like all three of you to have many interests, not few. I would love to know that you are curious, able to get excited about something that does nothing for your career, able to learn for pleasure and not only out of necessity. I do not wish you days reduced to a list of duties. But I do wish you the ability to distinguish what nourishes you from what you hide behind.
If you have chosen a path, give it the time it needs. If you realise it is not yours, have the courage to say so and look for another. Do not keep calling something a plan when you no longer give it any real chance of happening. Changing direction responsibly is not the same as postponing without deciding.
When someone loves you even in your uncertainty, do not feel obliged to display achievements to deserve that love. But do not use it as permission to leave everything as it is. Bring a willingness to build to the relationship as well, be attentive to the other person's timing, and make promises you are willing to work towards fulfilling.
And when you are struggling, talk about it. Asking for help is already different from pretending everything is fine. I will not need to hear you describe a magnificent future: I will prefer to understand the step you are trying to take and how I can be there for you without taking it in your place.
The right time is not when everything becomes easy. It is when we recognise that something important cannot keep waiting. Use the present to prepare yourselves too: not because today is worth less than tomorrow, but so that your lives continue to hold possibilities, and those who walk beside you do not have to live on promises alone.
Papy