Elias was a man of many notebooks. One for the house he’d build "mais tarde," one for the stories he’d write "mais tarde," and one for the trips he’d take when the time was right. To Elias, "later" wasn't a delay; it was a vast, shimmering horizon where all his best versions lived.
Procrastination is a messenger - Carol Milters
Elias stayed silent. He looked at his notebooks—his own "jars" of paper. That evening, he didn't open his "later" notebook. Instead, he picked up a pen and wrote one sentence on the first page of a new one: Mais tarde
Elias looked at the empty jar. "Ma'am, this is just glass. It’s worth nothing."
She tapped the glass. "He passed away yesterday. Now the jar is full of things that never happened. I’m selling it so someone might see how heavy an empty jar can be." Elias was a man of many notebooks
Clara smiled sadly. "This is a Jar of Laters. My husband filled it for forty years. Every time he wanted to tell me he loved me but was too busy, he’d whisper it into the jar to save for 'mais tarde.' Every time he wanted to see the ocean or learn the piano, he’d put a note in here for 'later.'"
He worked at a clock repair shop, ironically spending his days fixing the very thing he ignored. One rainy Tuesday, an elderly woman named Clara walked in. She didn’t have a watch to fix. Instead, she handed him a small, empty glass jar. "I’d like to sell this," she said. Procrastination is a messenger - Carol Milters Elias
He didn't wait to build a house; he fixed the broken porch step. He didn't wait to write a book; he wrote a letter to an old friend. He realized that "mais tarde" is a place where dreams go to grow old and tired, but "agora" (now) is where they live.