If I'm worth something later, I'm worth something now
Inertia — Nº195
"If I make better work later, I still won’t work otherwise than now; I mean it will be the same apple only riper — I myself won’t turn from what I’ve thought from the start. And this is why I say for my part, if I’m no good now, I won’t be any good later either — but if later, then now too. For wheat is wheat, even if it looks like grass at first to townsfolk — and the other way round too."
— Vincent van Gogh
Every runner was once someone standing still. Running on the fuel of ‘not yet’. We paint our present in the shades of preparation—as if today was only about tomorrow. But people like Van Gogh knew better; wheat is wheat, even if it starts as grass whispering through soil.
We become masters of conditional happiness, architects of assumed joy that never arrives. “When I get this promotion…” we whisper. “When I lose the weight”, we promise. “When I finally get…” we dream—as if worth were a destination than the ground we stand above. 2025 will bring back the marking of calendars with redemption dates, circling future versions of ourselves who will finally deserve the love we keep in escrow.
What’s the burning truth? More often than not, we’re setting ourselves up for failure. Not because we won’t achieve these things but because we’ve already taught ourselves that the present moment is insufficient. But if you’re worth something later, you’re worth something now. The one who will write a great novel of our time is the same one who transcribes foolishness in journals today. The parent who will raise remarkable children is forming in the one who babysits their niece this evening with clumsy, earnest love. Every master chef has burned their toast.
We treat ourselves like scaffolding. Temporary. Utilitarian. Meant to be discarded once the actual structure emerges. But why do we think like that? We’re already what we are. In moments of uncertainty, the stumbling blocks towards something greater are part of what makes us whole. Every anxious heartbeat, imperfect attempt, and moment dreaming of ‘someday’ is life itself. Raw. Real. Happening now.
Van Gogh painted his sunflowers with the same hands that created over 1,100 drawings that didn’t make the cut of fame. His letters to his brother Theo weren’t just documentation of his journey—they were the journey itself. Art doesn’t wait for mastery; mastery waits for art. We embrace the worth of every stroke, even when they miss their mark. The wheat doesn’t become wheat once harvested as the final product; it always has been what it is. You don’t plant grass and hope it becomes wheat. Nor do you sit and hope that, in time, you will become the person who runs someday. You run today.
From the moment life starts, we can be ruthless with hope, curiosity, and enjoying the messy but beautiful reality of being unfinished. The curtain’s already up. We’re performing now, just as we are.
The sunflower doesn’t wait until the end to turn its face toward the sun. It grows and exists in motion, knowing it’s always worthy of the light it seeks.