The Waiting Place

"Waiting for the fish to bite, or waiting for the wind to fly a kite, or waiting around for a Friday night. Or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake. Or a pot to boil. Or a better break. Or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants, or a wig with curls, or another chance"

Oh, the Places You'll Go

I have never been a patient person. I do not know the meaning of "take it slow." I leap without looking and push myself so hard that I often make myself sick. I don't slow down, and I don't give up.

Sometimes, this works to my advantage. It has helped fuel a strong work ethic, and it helped me try to keep my marriage together even when I wanted nothing more than to escape. Granted, the marriage ended in its own time anyway, but I still fought when so many others would have given up.

But now ... now I'm stuck in that Waiting Place. I cannot help speed my mother's treatments along. I don't know how long they'll take, and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. I have come to accept the fact that I have to let some things go. I have to breathe, and pray, and let things happen when they will. However, my excess impatient energy seems to have re-focused itself in other areas of my life.

I am no longer content with "someday." My mother had so many "somedays," and now her whole life has shifted. I had "somedays." I had a whole future planned, and now ... well, now my future is a blank canvas. An empty page. There are possibilities and dreams and the crippling fear of failure. My life is now, not someday.