Lately, I’ve heard the same sentiment expressed in slightly different ways. People tell me they are waiting for things to get better politically before they start something meaningful in their lives. They talk about holding off on starting a business, applying to school, writing a book, traveling, or even having a child. The idea is often framed as being practical or responsible, but underneath it is a sense that now is simply not the right time to want more.
I understand where this comes from. We are living in a moment marked by political violence, instability, and real harm. There are people in our communities who quite literally cannot pursue their dreams right now because they are fighting for basic safety, legal protection, or survival. I acknowledge that reality and pretending otherwise would be dishonest.
At the same time, I notice how easily many of us slip into a state of limbo. Not choosing to stop entirely, but not allowing ourselves to move forward either. Life gets suspended in a kind of “later,” with the assumption that clarity, safety, or permission will arrive at some future point.
For many people, guilt plays a big role in this pause. I hear questions like, “Who am I to want this when others are suffering?” or “How can I focus on my own goals when so much is going wrong?” These questions often come from empathy and care, not selfishness. But over time, guilt can quietly turn into a reason to minimize ourselves, to pursue things half-heartedly, or to keep our dreams small enough that they don’t feel offensive to anyone else’s pain.
This is where I start asking a different question, both in my work and in my own life. Who actually benefits when we stay small, delay indefinitely, or stop imagining a future for ourselves? Waiting may feel neutral or even virtuous, but it isn’t. There has never been a moment in history when conditions were fully just, stable, or safe for everyone. If we require that moment before living fully, we will always find a reason to wait.
It’s also important to be honest about our internal landscape. Sometimes the hesitation isn’t only political or moral. Sometimes we are genuinely tired, overwhelmed, or not in the best of spirits. This isn’t about forcing productivity or pretending everything is fine. It’s not about hustle or pushing through grief. It’s about noticing when a necessary pause quietly becomes a long-term disappearance from our own lives, and gently asking whether that pause is still serving us.
There is a common, maybe unsaid, belief that thriving while others are suffering is inherently wrong. But that belief deserves examination. Oppressive systems benefit when people are exhausted, disconnected, and unable to imagine a future beyond survival. They do not benefit when people are resourced, educated, creative, or building lives that allow them to support others more sustainably. Thriving does not mean ignoring injustice, and joy does not mean apathy. Moving forward does not require denial of what is happening around us.
I struggle with this tension myself, and I hear it constantly from clients. What I come back to is the idea that we do not have to choose between honoring grief and continuing to live. We don’t have to do everything at once, and we don’t have to move quickly. But we also don’t have to put our entire lives on hold until conditions are perfect.
It is possible to start slowly without staying small. It is possible to move forward while still carrying grief, fear, and uncertainty. In many cases, continuing to build a life in the midst of difficulty is not a betrayal of those who are suffering, but a way of honoring them.
The question, then, may not be whether this is the perfect time. It may be what happens if we allow this moment to steal our future in advance. Choosing to live fully, consciously, and imperfectly is not a denial of reality. For many of us, it is one of the most meaningful forms of resistance available right now.