Knife Edge of Waiting

I haven’t exactly been sitting around twiddling my thumbs, but I do seem to be doing a lot of waiting recently.

Waiting for our two-week vacation. Waiting for my plantar fasciitis to heal. Waiting to find out if David made the cut for swimming at State Championships. Waiting for the vegetables to ripen in the garden. Waiting for David to come back from Europe, alive, or at least without getting detained at customs for saying something a 16-year-old might say.  Waiting for John to get a job offer. Waiting for the inspiration (or time) to get back to my writing. Waiting for Lydia to finally get a section time in swimming so she can finally get a Varsity Letter (in 8th grade) and calm down about it. Waiting for the kids to go back to school. Waiting for this old house to clean itself. Waiting for someone to invoke the flipping 25th flipping amendment. Waiting to see if my stomach is going to keep getting bigger or if we’re gonna stay around the 7-months-pregnant-look for the time being. Waiting to hear if my application was accepted for an advanced writing course for the Fall. Waiting for my little brother and his wife to have their first baby. Waiting for Annika’s appointments at Mayo to find out if her treatments have improved her bone density. Waiting for swim schedules to be posted. Waiting for a clue about the future. Waiting for something to click. Waiting for things to finally make some fucking sense around here. Waiting for the Reward that people and books and Ted Talks assure me is hanging out for me, right around the corner. Waiting for my dreadlocks to relax. Waiting for me to relax.

I. Hate. Waiting.

And really? So does our society. HUSTLE! JUST DO IT! STOP THINKING AND START DOING! MAKE IT HAPPEN! GO AFTER YOUR DREAMS! DON’T WAIT! omg people. re. lax. Sometimes we just have to wait. It’s painful, yes, but that doesn’t make it any less true. This is where I am: On the Knife Edge of Waiting.

There was the old. There was the realization that things aren’t Right. There was the work. And I used to think that the work was the worst part…all the therapy and talking and crying and hurting and writing and reading and being honest. The worst. And now is the “in-between.” Where we wait. Which now I realize is the worst part. For so long I’ve been fighting it. Trying to embrace our culture’s rules about motivation and determination and stick-to-it-ive-ness and of course, punishing myself for falling short. I’m so tired from the mental energy it takes to control my world. It’s exhausting. I’m done. I’ve come to terms with it: there are seventeen hundred billion things that I do not control.

I’ve tried to rush this time of uncertainty. I’ve tried to control this place. I’ve tried to numb this paused feeling (hello mr pinot noir, my dear friend). I’ve tried to deny that this sort of bizarre space exists in life. I’m a slow learner and I’m impatient at the same time. So I run around like a little toddler, “Let’s try this! Let’s open this! Let’s throw this! Let’s jump on this! Let’s eat this!” and I’m exhausted from all the trying and all the throwing and all the jumping. And still, after all of that, nothing makes sense. So, the other day, I made a list of all the things I DO control during this time of waiting.

Like, 5 things, I think.

It’s a short list.

But.

It’s an important list.

At the bottom of this earth-shatteringly small list is: “I can control the fullness of my gratitude.”

Yeah, I know. Groan. I cannot stand Gratitude-Pushers. So, I’m sorry, from the bottom of my heart. I didn’t do it on purpose. I hate myself for it, trust me.

So, as I sink into this Wait, I find myself a bit calmer knowing that this is the time I need to just Be. Yes, I have to cook all the dinners and pull all the weeds and do all the laundry and pick up all the children. But the big things are on pause. Writing helps. Walking helps. Swearing helps. Reading helps. Cooking helps. And praying.

Here’s the thing about my praying. I’m bossy. I’m obstinate. I’m selfish. And truth be told, I think I might come across as a tad entitled, whiny even. This wait is humbling. Contemplation is boring. And slow. So, now I find that my prayer is shaped by the Waiting. Which I wish I could tell you has helped me relax. But, really all it has done is create a new awkward mindset. More waiting for that to sort itself out, I guess.

What does it all mean? I have no idea. My sweet friend told me about liminal spaces. Never heard of it? Me neither. I need to research it further (but I’m currently choosing a new wall color for our dining room, so it might have to wait). But I think liminal space is the time between something ending and another thing beginning–thank you Wikipedia.

I heard Glennon Doyle Melton recently categorize the phases of transformation as “First the Pain. Then the Waiting. And then the Rising.” Describing this process of life? Growth? Recovery? Change? I guess? The chapters of our life come and go as we Journey through and get to where our soul is nudging and nagging us to go. We have to go through the Pain and the Waiting and pray that eventually there will be a fucking Rising, of some sort.

I’m still skeptical.

It’s hard. The Waiting. It’s almost more work than the Doing and the Achieving and the Becoming and the Creating. But here I am. Hanging out on the Knife Edge of Waiting.

Oh, quick caveat though, just in case you guys are taking me literally about the waiting. I waited too long to register Lydia for the high school swim season a few weeks ago. And then I forgot about it between our summer vacations and David’s state swim meet and David’s trip to Europe. And then all of a sudden, it was the morning of her first 2 1/2 hour swim practice with the team. She got up at 6:00 am (in the summertime, like a weirdo) and was at the pool by 6:30, ready to go.

I was sitting at my desk when she came home from practice. She giant-stomped into my studio.

“Do you wanna know why my hair is dry?!” she spat at me.

My first thought was that I happened to buy her an amazing magical swim cap on accident, that miraculously kept all the water out. But then I turned to look at her and saw her furious face. She was shaking and had those eyes that at first look evil, but at second glance, are really just deeply hurt.

“Coach benched me for the whole practice because you didn’t sign me up because David is more important because you were more worried about him getting to Spain!” She continued, “Yeah, mom, I had to just sit there, watching all of my friends have a blast in the pool. Coach hates me even more and now I’ll never get my letter because I can’t miss ANY PRACTICES MOM!”

Then her tears came.

Not the Rising I had in mind.

Ugh.

Don’t wait too long, my friends.

PS. I’ve seen those high school girls at swim practice. It’s grueling. So don’t worry, no one is ever having “a blast” in that pool.

Much love to you all. xo