“There will be a fifteen to twenty minute wait; we will call you when your table is ready.”
“Please take a number and wait for the next available clerk.”
“Make yourself comfortable in the waiting room; your car will be ready shortly.”
“You will have a three hour lay-over between flights.”
And so, I dutifully pick up a stale magazine or start next week’s grocery list or simply “go on hold” (you know, when your eyes glaze over, you start twirling your hair with your little finger and, as you cross your legs, your top leg starts to swing like a metronome) . It’s called WAITING.
However, I dislike wasting time and, since the stages and activities of our lives seem to require periods of “biding one’s time,” I decided to observe how other people handle life’s intervals. A recent wait at the airport provided the opportunity.
Upon settling into one of the bucket seats provided for the waiting public, I began taking mental notes. We waited for the same flight to arrive, but we did not pass the time in the same way. While some jingled the coins or keys in their pockets or nibbled on their fingernails, others checked their emails, read, or knitted. A much smaller group closed their eyes and appeared to rest quietly, perhaps meditating or praying?
The slouchers and leaners, arms folded, propped themselves against any available support, periodically readjusting their angle of incline. The more active of those waiting included the pacers who divided their time between wandering aimlessly, and measuring the length of the terminal step by step.
Young children were the best at passing the time, rolling around on the floor or chasing a newly discovered friend in and out of the forest of adults.
Overall, I’ve noticed that waiting falls into two categories. We wait to do something or we wait for something to happen. For example, in our day-to-day living, we wait for traffic lights to turn green, to get our hair cut, or our teeth cleaned. We wait in the check-out line at the grocery store and we stand in line to buy tickets for the movie that we’ve been waiting to see. In the winter, we join a jostling, noisy line to ride the ski lift; in the summer, we quietly await our tee time.
Sometimes the interims seem bigger than life itself, the events taking less time than the wait. Childhood seemed to be a series of endless waiting. Waiting for my turn on the slide or swings was easy compared with waiting for Christmas, Easter and birthday parties. I also “couldn’t wait” to start first grade, stay up past nine p.m., have my first date, wear lipstick, learn to drive…and then to graduate. The next thing I knew, I was cradling my wedding bouquet, waiting with my father for the church organ to signal my walk down the aisle. Eager anticipation was a normal part of growing up.
In adulthood, waiting takes on new dimensions. We wait for the right job or the next pay raise. We wait for nine months for the baby to come and then we wait through long nights for the fever to break or the colic to stop. We watch for the first tooth, the first word, and the first steps. Then, for the next several years, much of our time is spent waiting to pick up our kids from school, piano lessons and soccer practice.
Sometimes the wait is easy, like watching for the first crocus to break through the snow, for the first raspberry to appear, for the first apple to ripen, and then for the first snow again. But, waiting can also be hard work, like when we wait on a cold examination table, stripped of everything but our fear, when we wait by the phone for test results or news that can change our lives, or when we sit by a loved one’s hospital bed, waiting for the night to pass.
On the surface, life appears to be one long waiting game. If so, when is the NOW? Could it be that the old saying,” Life is what happens when you’re making other plans”, could apply to waiting, too, that waiting is not life on hold, but part of life’s process.? Just as intermission is part of the experience of concerts and plays, time-outs are necessary intervals for many sports, and recess is still part of school.
Oh, yes, the NOW is definitely good, but for some things, it’s the wait that makes the difference. My timer tells me that it’s still a ten-minute wait until the brownies come out of the oven, but their wonderful aroma is a treat I am enjoying now. Perhaps Artur Schnabel, the gifted pianist, said it best, “The notes I handle no better than many pianists. But the pauses between the notes–ah, that is where the art resides.”