The book I came to buy was not easy to find. As I searched the crowded shelves, a quick movement to my left caught my attention.

As her mother browsed the books, the little girl by her side passed the time. She she danced with small, secret movements. Twice she glanced in my direction, pleasantly aware of her only audience. Perhaps she was remembering steps she learned that week in dance class. It was obvious to me that in her head, those movements were much larger, graceful and real. As I watched her from the corner of my eye, a thought occurred to me.

This little girl will probably never become a famous ballet dancer. Perhaps she doesn’t even desire that. At best, she will dance her way through college, possibly on a scholarship. Most likely, her interest in ballet dancing will fade as she enters high school where school spirit and team sports are emphasized. She may choose to join one of them, or she may not. Either way, her extra-curricular specialty will become only a past-time or a word on a future list of hobbies or a conversation piece.

That leaves her with only one conclusion: ballet dancing is not for later. Ballet dancing is for now. That little girl doesn’t have to be taught to dream of dancing forever. She does that naturally. But what would it take to convince her that dancing is for now?

Have you ever had the sense you are waiting for something? In the waiting, there is an expectation that things are going to change and that right now isn’t as important as later. What will it take to convince me that right now is later?