It’s true. I’m a waiter. But don’t go placing your order or telling me you want fries with that.
Maybe more accurately—I’m patient. I’m accustomed to waiting. I’m good at it, and I don’t mind! Don’t mistake this for complacency. I care a lot. I make lists about the things I need to do, people I want to see. I fill my thoughts and days with a lot of activities to get myself through waiting periods. I wonder and I ponder. But I don’t really mind. I revel in the slow passage of time. I’m not in a hurry.
Many people are.
We live in a get-it-all-in economy. The cheaper the better because the more you can have. And, the faster you can get it. I purport that slowing down, just a little bit, waiting for something allows you the opportunity to fill in the gaps with other things. Things that can give a lot of meaning to the minutes in between the big stuff. The time spent waiting is valuable time, not just passable time. Make sense?
If you’re a writer (and I bet you are) you spend a lot of time waiting and you hate it. Some writers wait for ideas to hit them (I go out and clobber ideas and drag them home with me). All writers wait for feedback, answers, research, editing. We wait for agents, editors, publishers, readers. We wait a long time. We kvetch and complain and tap our watches. We check due dates and schedules and timelines.
What if stopped focusing on the waiting?
Counter to logical thinking, impatience doesn’t make anything happen faster. It creates angst. Writers even have websites where they rank how fast agents reply to their queries. Now waiting five months for a “no” on a partial (happened to me!) might be absurd, but it happened. And nothing else can happen OTHER than the waiting if a writer is anxiety-ridden from waiting. I set alarms on my phone to remind me when I should get an answer/find out about something. Then I can tuck the waiting to the side, and get down to the business of writing and life. Because I can’t do one without the other. Can you?