Weight of Waiting

I feel like I’m always waiting for the “big thing” that’s going to push me exactly where I need to be: the big break-up, the big commitment, the time I fail big, the biggest success.

I guess I’m waiting to see if all that pressure turns me to diamond or dust.

The waiting tends to weigh on me a little; it makes me feel like time is slipping through my fingers, like while I’m waiting for THE big thing, a lot of little things are passing me by.

Something I think about in the midst of all this worry and waiting is Mary Oliver’s The Fourth Sign of the Zodiac:

I know, you never intended to be in this world.
But you’re in it all the same.

so why not get started immediately.

I mean, belonging to it.
There is so much to admire, to weep over.

And to write music or poems about.

Bless the feet that take you to and fro.
Bless the eyes and the listening ears.
Bless the tongue, the marvel of taste.
Bless touching.

You could live a hundred years, it’s happened.
Or not.
I am speaking from the fortunate platform
of many years,
none of which, I think, I ever wasted.
Do you need a prod?
Do you need a little darkness to get you going?
Let me be urgent as a knife, then,
and remind you of Keats,
so single of purpose and thinking, for a while,
he had a lifetime.

So I guess my point is even though I know I’m constantly waiting for all of these things, I’m trying my best to belong to it right now.


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