“Thanks for waiting for me,” I said to Angelo when I joined him in the lobby outside our gym. (Yes, I said gym...I’ve been going to the gym for a couple months. Stop laughing.)
“I wasn’t waiting,” he differentiated, “I was listening to a podcast.” As if “waiting” for me was something unpleasant or annoying. I appreciated his waiting; to me it meant love or respect. To him it was something he had to disguise. It struck me as funny that he would consider waiting something that was objectionable to do because typically I consider waiting to be a positive thing.
Unless I’m waiting for something to get better. Or change. Or happen.
It seems like over the last six or seven years our family has been beset by catastrophes and illnesses. I felt like we-- or maybe I--was always waiting for something or someone to get better. Like when my sister was misdiagnosed with IBS instead of ovarian cancer and we waited to see if her treatment would be successful.
Or after my dad fell, hit his head and was in a coma for 10 days, there was a lot of waiting then; we waited to see if he’d live or if he’d die. Then there was the time period of his convalescence and Mom’s adjustment to his new regimen of therapy and increased responsibilities--would he ever not need her? We were waiting to find out. No more than she, of course.
And then she got sick and we spent months waiting to see if her doctors could figure out why she was having such trouble breathing. Lung cancer, that’s why. And then Dad came to live with us and we were providing his care--that was a big wait. And an uncomfortable one because when he was living with us, we couldn’t really do the things we wanted to do, so--were we waiting for him to die? In a way, yes. That is a most difficult kind of waiting. Until the pandemic and we waited to see what would get Dad first--his old age, diabetes or dementia? Or a careless exposure to Covid?
And now Annie, whose cancer treatment is ongoing and inconclusive. We’re waiting for more opinions, more treatment, better news, for her to get better . . . or what? Which? Why? This time feels the hardest, to be sure.
But other than those taxing and gruesome times, waiting for me has always been a pleasure--a little found time in a busy day--an opportunity to read an article or email or close my eyes for a minute. I once had a “waiting book”--one I could pick up and read a few pages of when I had to pick up a child from somewhere or wait in a doctor’s office. You probably had one, too. One time, when Luca and I went out for a walk on Main Street, we pushed the crosswalk button to cross over to Walgreens. The recently installed crosswalk system alerted the pedestrians to “Wait! Wait!” in a funny and commanding automated voice. Luca and I pushed the button again and again, giggling and mimicking it each time. Waiting with Luca was no problem at all.
But I do often feel as though I’m waiting for something to happen (Insert Waiting for Godot joke here.) I can be an impatient waiter, but it doesn’t feel like I’m waiting for something as much as I’m expecting something incredible. The sound of the mail being dropped through the slot in our kitchen door makes me giddy; I love hearing the brakes of the UPS truck as it slows in front of my house. I can’t wait to see what is about to arrive at my door. I always expect something amazing.
I think my feelings of anticipation have something to do with waiting for my big break. My imagination is about on par with my level of anticipation and throughout my life I daydreamed about what success would look like. Literary agents would be knocking down the door for my next book. Reese Witherspoon would want to know more about my Writual writing program. Who would interview me now that Johnny Carson is gone? Oprah? Jane Friedman?
If I put waiting for my big break in context with my general feelings about waiting—largely positive—I find that I’m really not waiting for anything. My family, my work—my world—are all here right now. The time we have together is what we have. While it would be nice if things were different or better or STUPENDOUS!—here we are. And as far as my success? I think I am my own big break.
I can’t wait.
(The book pictured above is Wait! Wait! Thirty words that seem like they’re for toddlers, but in reality are for their parents who must learn to let them go someday, even though they wish they could wait.)
Excellent! I'm anticipating you getting your big break! You deserve it
now I see my reading list needs to include everything on your shelf!