We like to believe that everything important can be accelerated. Deadlines push. Expectations tighten. The world wants “now” far more than it wants “ready.”
But ripeness doesn’t care about any of that.
Some things simply take the time they take (as Mary Oliver said) — and rushing them doesn’t just shorten the process, it cheapens the outcome. A peach picked too early is firm and forgettable. An idea explored too soon is thin, all premise and no depth. Even a conversation forced before its moment lands with a dull thud. We know this, but we still try to hurry the things that don’t respond to hurrying.
And yet ripeness isn’t a universal point on a timeline. It’s variable. Contextual. Personal.
Take an avocado: one person wants it barely soft for slicing, another waits for that exact moment when it’s spreadable, and someone else loves it just on the edge of overripe for baking or blending. Same avocado. Different thresholds. Different intentions. Ripeness isn’t a label — it’s a relationship.
Our work, ideas, and seasons of life behave the same way. What’s “ready” for someone else might still be maturing for you. What once needed more time might now be perfect for this version of you. And something that felt overripe a year ago might suddenly be exactly what your life can use.
The point isn’t to cling to patience as a virtue. It’s to recognize that time, taste, and intention all play a role in when something is genuinely ready to be taken up — and that sometimes the wisest move is to wait, not because waiting is noble, but because ripeness is real.
Some things need pressure. Others need space. And some simply need gentler hands and a little more time.
Because when you meet something — or someone — at the moment they’re ripe, everything changes.
