An ode to waiting
And when my time came, and life was supposed to flash before my eyes, first all I saw were the moments when I waited in supermarket queues. Then moments when I waited for the bus to come. Then when I had to wait before the hospital doors to let me in. Then when I waited for them to put my daughter into my arms. Then when I waited next to the pool table for my turn to hit the cue ball. Then I relived how I waited for my first potato to mature, and how I cherished every little growth I noticed.
The pictures started rolling in, in no particular order. Sitting in my car and waiting for my girlfriend to say something, anything. Waiting in line at the airport and noticing her, unbeknownst to us, for the first time in our lives. How I waited for her to catch up to me when we went hiking. The excruciating waiting at my father's funeral, hoping to do well for the first time without him being there to encourage me. I saw myself waiting in front of the store window, staring at that red fire truck, and how happy I was when I could unpack it during Christmas; it was my constant companion until the wheels gave out. I suddenly remembered all the times when I was waiting for school to finish, and all the times after that when I longingly thought back to those years.
I waited many times for my golden retriever to bring back the ball that I threw, or the random branch that he found. I waited anxiously to see whether there would be a rainstorm, or if the clouds would clear out and we could have a good view from our campsite. I remember waiting for the universities to reply to my application, and I remember the instant joy that I felt when one of them came back positive. I even remember waiting to get to the end of the book, and how surprisingly empty the feeling was. Now what?
I'm not saying that waiting is everything. Or even that it is pleasant. But I think… now I think… that without waiting, life would be much more rushed, and there would be many things that we couldn't appreciate the same way.
