I’m Done Living in the Waiting Room

Saturday night, I was sitting on the couch with Baloo next to me.

Nothing particularly profound was happening.

The house was quiet. The dog was taking up considerably more couch than his financial contribution would justify. I had put some fall decorations outside earlier. I was tired.

And for a minute, I had this strange thought:

This is my life.

Not the part before my life starts again.

Not the temporary version while I wait to see what happens next.

Not the waiting room.

This.

Apparently I have spent a fairly impressive amount of time waiting for everything to be settled before I started living.

At 56, I have some unfortunate news about that strategy.

Nothing appears to be settling down.

There is always something.

A decision that hasn’t been made yet. A problem that hasn’t been solved. Somebody you love who needs you. Work. Money. Health. Kids. Parents. A plan that changed. A future that refuses to provide a detailed itinerary despite repeated requests.

I kept thinking there would be an all-clear.

Some point where life would tap me politely on the shoulder and say, Okay, Marie. Everything is handled now. You may relax and proceed.

Very inconsiderately, life has failed to do this.

And I don’t think I’m particularly unusual.

We wait until we lose the weight.
Until the kids are settled.
Until we retire.
Until we know what’s happening with the job.
Until we have enough money.
Until the test comes back.
Until the relationship makes sense.
Until the house is finished.
Until we feel better.
Until things calm down.

Then we’ll travel. Start something. Wear the thing. Invite people over. Take care of ourselves. Sit on the porch. Learn something new. Enjoy the life we’ve been working so hard to build.

Last week I wrote about how differently time feels to me now.

When you’re younger, twenty years sounds enormous.

At 56, it doesn’t.

Twenty years from now I’ll be 76.

That is not me being morbid. That is me finally understanding basic arithmetic.

And once you start looking at time that way, spending another five or ten years waiting for life to become sufficiently tidy starts to seem like a pretty terrible business plan.

This doesn’t mean I suddenly believe everything will work out exactly the way I want.

I don’t.

Bad things happen. Plans fall apart. People get sick. Jobs disappear. Families change. Bodies change. Life occasionally looks at your carefully organized spreadsheet and laughs.

I’m not trying to convince myself that I can control any of that.

I think I’m trying to do something much simpler.

Stop treating uncertainty like a reason not to live today.

I can worry about tomorrow and still enjoy this morning.

Both things can be true.

I can be scared about something and still take Baloo for a walk by the ocean.

I can have no idea what the next few years look like and still make this life beautiful.

I can take care of the future version of myself without making the current version sit quietly in a corner until further notice.

Maybe that’s the shift.

Not pretending the waiting room doesn’t exist.

Just realizing I don’t actually have to live there.

So I’m trying something new.

When I catch myself thinking, I’ll do that when things settle down, I’m going to ask a slightly annoying question:

Why not now?

Not every time. Some things genuinely have to wait. I remain, despite rumors to the contrary, a functioning adult.

But I suspect quite a few things have been waiting for permission they never actually needed.

Put up the fall decorations, walk the dog, make dinner, start the project, call your friend, lift the weights, take the trip when you can. Or just sit on the couch and enjoy the life you’re already in.

Enjoy the Wednesday you actually have instead of saving yourself for some imaginary Thursday when everything finally makes sense.

Because apparently life does not pause while we get our shit together.

Rude.

But useful information.

So I think I’m done living in the waiting room.

At least I’m going to try.

Upward-ish.