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 looked at the empty jar. "Ma'am, this is just glass. It’s worth nothing."
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
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.
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. She tapped the glass
Procrastination is a messenger - Carol Milters
Here is a story about the weight of those two words and the power of "now." The Jar of "Later" I’m selling it so someone might see how
The phrase (Portuguese for "Later") often serves as a trap for our goals, a promise for our future selves, or a reminder that life doesn't wait.