SPEAKING.APP

Everything seems to be working out fine, which is strange considering I’ve nearly died eight times. People call me lucky. I think life looked at me and said, “Let’s keep him around. He seems to be free entertainment.” Toast Chair, fellow Toastmasters, and guests, the strange thing is this: none of my near-death experiences were normal. They were all ridiculous. And almost every time, I felt the same message waiting for me at the end: “Not yet.” Let me show you what I mean. In college, I was learning horse riding. That was fun. Not for me, for the horses. One day I fell off while galloping, one leg still stuck in the stirrup, and the horse took off dragging me. I’m screaming, “Stop! Stop!” The horse misunderstands and runs faster. Imagine if I’d slipped under it, one hoof on my head, and today’s speech wouldn’t be “Not Yet,” it would be “Too Late.” When the horse finally stopped, I got up bruised, shaken, but intact. And that’s when I heard it for the first time: “Not yet.” Years later, I’m swimming in the ocean with a friend. That was fun until my friend screamed. He’d stepped on a sea urchin, like a porcupine. He leaves. I keep swimming. When I come out, I’m covered in polka dots: fifty-three sea urchin spikes in my body. My friend had one spike and his leg swelled up like a balloon. I had fifty-three and… nothing. No pain, no swelling, no explanation. It felt like even the sea urchins looked at me and said, “Not yet.” These weird escapes kept happening, like life was trying to tell me something. But I didn’t really listen until Mumbai. I donated blood and felt noble, almost heroic, so I decided to celebrate. Happy hours. Cheers. Later, I sprint across Mumbai traffic to catch a cab, open the door and… blackout. Apparently, donating blood, happy hours, and sprinting is a terrible combination. I wake up in a hospital bed. And again, the same message: “Not yet.” Lying there, I stared at the corner where two walls and the ceiling meet. Friends, that’s a strange place to look, because if you stare long enough, everything else fades and patterns start to emerge. Different places. Different years. Different accidents. Same result: not yet. And that’s when it hit me. Life wasn’t warning me about danger. Life was exposing a habit. I’d been taking life for granted. I was living like I had unlimited time. Everything could be done later. Gym: later, from Monday. Difficult conversations: later, when their mood is right. Dreams and desires: later, saved under an Instagram folder or “someday.” Later had become my favorite comfort word. And then a fear crept in. It wasn’t the fear of dying. It was the fear of reaching the end with everything still sitting in the “later” bucket. So I decided to act. First, I called the people I love and said the things I’d been postponing: the unsaid, the unspoken. My first call was my mom. I poured my heart out, and then I told her what happened. She said, “Mihir… so you donated blood today? Did you also donate your common sense?” And my father shouted from the background, “Mihir, does your insurance cover stupidity?” Inspired, I called my friends. Half of them got emotional. The other half said, “Mihir, what are they giving you in the hospital? Get two of that for me also.” With such wonderful people in my life, I realized something: they’re my free entertainment too. Then I took another step. I started putting dates to my goals. Yes, including the gym. And yes, I picked an actual Monday this time. The results were surprisingly good. And here’s the funny part: life doesn’t give me “not yets” anymore. My “not yets” now come from a timer in Toastmasters. And yes, when I see the amber, I stop… and I respond. Friends, your “not yet” may not be as absurd as mine, but if you dig deep in your heart, you’ll find it there. Hidden in a dream you keep quietly rescheduling. Hidden in an apology you keep rehearsing, but haven’t said yet. Hidden, maybe, in a stage you see yourself on, but haven’t stepped on yet. It’s time. Because if you are still here, if you are still listening, if you are still breathing, it can only mean one thing: We are not done. Not today. Not now. Not yet. Toastmasters.