Farmers who wait for perfect weather never plant. If they watch every cloud, they never harvest.
I was eleven. Uncle Tim and I stood in the church hall as the last of the Sunday school kids sat down. “Say nephew,” he said. “When will you sing that song for us?” “Someday,” I replied. He smiled. “You know, someday never comes. How about now?” I sang the song. Carl Sandburg said, “Yesterday is done. Tomorrow never comes. Today is here”. There really is no better time than the present. How about now?