It feels like I’ve been waiting a lot.

Waiting for the rain to stop…
Waiting for the wi-fi to reconnect…
Waiting for the printer to print…
… for a reply…
… for time to pass…
… clothes to dry…
… the water to boil…
… the other shoe to drop…
… someone to notice…

clocks
Image of Salvador Dali’s “Persistence of Memory”

I read somewhere that the average person spends  about 6 months of their entire lifetime waiting in lines and traffic. 6 MONTHS?! And that doesn’t even begin to account for all the billions of other tedious wait times we have to endure.

Why do we wait? What do we wait for? Does the end always justify the means?

I find myself getting restless. I’m antsy with the everyday. Walk to work, sit, stand up, sit, stand up, walk home. Repeat. I obviously do more than basic calisthenics each day, but at what point can I really begin to parse apart what’s meaningful and what isn’t? The anticipation comes with looking too far ahead. Where will I be 4 months from now? In 8? A year? I know some entries ago I said I’d make an effort to live in the now. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that it’s difficult, especially when the now seems to be eking along in a race against molasses.

Why do they call it the waiting game? I don’t remember signing up to play. And yet, here I am, not-so-patiently playing along.

What do I get if I win?

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