Waiting is awful. Nothing is worse than knowing what you want, having everything necessary to obtain it, but being forced to delay, to wait. Time is so expensive today. Economists can tell exactly how much your time is worth in dollars. There is so much that can be done at incredibly fast speeds. Modern technology greases everything down, gets a running start, and pushes us down the icy hill, every day. Every second holds potential, and by simply choosing we lose everything we didn't choose. 100 years ago, the stakes were rarely that high. Without texts, BBM, tweets, email, or cell phones, people spent months awaiting letters.
Sure, things have become more efficient, but has something intangible been lost? Can waiting be beautiful? Ask someone who has to wait. Ask a child boy who's father has been away for a month. Look at his face when his dad comes home. Waiting is beautiful.
Our time may be expensive, but the pace of our lives makes everything cheaper, less precious. This is not a new idea. But among all the distractions in my life, I lose track of patience and of gratitude. Every second is precious, but not because there is so much I could be doing instead, but because I am alive, and right now is all I have.
Why do I spend so much life and stress and lost sleep wanting things that won't provide for the need that I can't define? My life and relationships are my most valuable resources that are most expediently thrown away. My greed creeps everyday on the garden of my life, tying to tame it, to own it. My life is hardly mine, but even in my small role as caretaker, I perform miserably. Why would I want things that I know I would have to conceal from the people I love the most? My hope is that the truest me doesn't really want the weed, the sex, the lazy life. My doubt, in its never ending quest to confirm itself, pushes me on towards cowardice.
Patience is not fun. It is not gratifying. It will isolate you, terrify you, and pin you down while the world you see spins away. There is no promise that your efforts will be justified, or that the real nature of the world will ever show itself to free your soul from its eternal hesitation. As I wait, it is impossible for me say that whatever comes to me will be worth slow grind of patience, but I hold on non-the-less and find things to be grateful in.
Sure, things have become more efficient, but has something intangible been lost? Can waiting be beautiful? Ask someone who has to wait. Ask a child boy who's father has been away for a month. Look at his face when his dad comes home. Waiting is beautiful.
Our time may be expensive, but the pace of our lives makes everything cheaper, less precious. This is not a new idea. But among all the distractions in my life, I lose track of patience and of gratitude. Every second is precious, but not because there is so much I could be doing instead, but because I am alive, and right now is all I have.
Why do I spend so much life and stress and lost sleep wanting things that won't provide for the need that I can't define? My life and relationships are my most valuable resources that are most expediently thrown away. My greed creeps everyday on the garden of my life, tying to tame it, to own it. My life is hardly mine, but even in my small role as caretaker, I perform miserably. Why would I want things that I know I would have to conceal from the people I love the most? My hope is that the truest me doesn't really want the weed, the sex, the lazy life. My doubt, in its never ending quest to confirm itself, pushes me on towards cowardice.
Patience is not fun. It is not gratifying. It will isolate you, terrify you, and pin you down while the world you see spins away. There is no promise that your efforts will be justified, or that the real nature of the world will ever show itself to free your soul from its eternal hesitation. As I wait, it is impossible for me say that whatever comes to me will be worth slow grind of patience, but I hold on non-the-less and find things to be grateful in.
