Yesterday, I Said Tomorrow

Nike ran a billboard, first in 2008, with the simple text:

Nike Billboard.

Yesterday, You Said Tomorrow.

That line haunted me for years.

Because it describes a pattern I know too well.

I wasn’t blocked.
I wasn’t unmotivated.
I wasn’t short on ideas.

I was preparing.

Refining.
Reframing.
Waiting for things to become clearer, sharper, more aligned.

I told myself I was being thoughtful.

In reality, I was avoiding discomfort.

I had drafts. Notes. Half-finished posts. Systems to organize thinking. And nothing shipped.

Not because I didn’t know what to say.
But because shipping forces commitment.

Once something is out there, you can’t hide behind potential anymore. You can’t keep telling yourself “this could be really good”. It either stands or it doesn’t.

So tomorrow became next week.
Next week became another iteration.

And then you realize the real trick:

There’s always tomorrow.

Tomorrow is infinite. It never expires. It keeps renewing itself as long as you don’t act.

That’s why it’s so dangerous.

You’re not saying no. You’re saying “not yet”. Which feels responsible. Thoughtful. Mature. But functionally, it’s the same as never.

Perpetual tomorrow is the perfect hiding place.

It lets you feel intentional without committing.
Productive without producing.
Busy without moving.

Nothing breaks it except action.

Not insight.
Not readiness.
Not another round of thinking.

Just shipping.

What changed for me wasn’t motivation. It was constraints.

I stopped negotiating with readiness. I stopped waiting for clarity. I started treating publishing as a non-negotiable act, not a mood-dependent one.

Not because everything I ship is great.
But because momentum beats intention every time.

This matters more than ever now.

The internet is full of people who sound productive but never commit. Who optimize endlessly and execute rarely. Who confuse motion with movement.

Shipping is the antidote.

Yesterday, you said tomorrow.

At some point, tomorrow has to become now.
Just do it.