When I choose a topic for this column, sometimes I am very present to the concept and the writing just flows. Other times, I need to… wait. Wait for inspiration. Wait for clarity.
A few days ago, the topic of waiting came to me. Waiting is something we often discuss in the various grief education and support groups I facilitate. We talk about waiting for heavy emotions to lighten, our new self-identities to emerge, and anniversaries of the heart to pass.
Waiting is something we talk about in my end-of-life doula work. When a terminal diagnosis is given, there begins a sense of waiting for death to arrive.
Waiting is also something I often think about in my personal life. Since my spiritual direction training years ago, I’m very aware of the difference between anxious waiting and expectant waiting.
Anxious waiting is self-explanatory. Expectant waiting, on the other hand, is hopeful waiting. No matter how hard things are, you’re hopeful that something life-giving will arrive.
Waiting is also something for which we have many clichés. “Good things come to those who wait.”
“Patience is a virtue.” “Waiting with bated breath.” “Worth the wait.” “Like watching paint dry.” “A watched pot never boils.”
Because waiting can often be challenging, sometimes we choose not to do it. And choosing not to wait can create trouble. For example, I responded to a medical professional in my patient portal the other day, answering quickly, and had to send a message later correcting my initial response — a response I would have given the first time if I had waited long enough to fully think things through.
All of these aspects of waiting were what I thought I was going to write about for this column. And then, life gave me opportunities for more waiting.
A few days ago, my 92-year-old mom fell in the middle of the night and broke her femur. Thankfully, the helpful staff at the retirement community called an ambulance and then called me. I met them at the hospital. Again thankfully, things moved quickly. She was assessed, medically cleared, and taken into surgery.
Now I’m waiting in the surgical waiting room. Expectantly. I did meditation for 20 minutes. I worked on this article. I thanked my husband for waiting with me and appreciated sitting next to him in silence. I texted with family. I listened to others complain about the waiting.
Fortunately, the surgery went well.
This will be one of my many enduring lessons. Enduring can mean patiently tolerating or suffering and enduring can mean long lasting. When we’re anxiously waiting, it can be patiently tolerating or suffering, but when we’re expectantly waiting, it can be long-lasting in a renewing way. That is the lesson I hope I take from this. In the end, waiting is really about time and how we choose to be in it and with it. A. A. Milne has a wonderful quote, “Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there someday
