Do you ever feel like you’re always holding out for something? Hanging on, swinging from point to point – jungle gym style – and merely existing in between?
Waiting til your partner finds a job.
Waiting til you save $100, or $1000, or $10,000.
Waiting for a job offer.
Waiting for the end of a project, so you can move on.
Waiting for a trip, a concert, a big event.
Waiting for the next big milestone. The next big high.
I’m know I’m guilty of it. I feel like I’m in limbo. The thing I’m waiting on may not even happen. But it wields a strange power over me. It propels to me put things off, to think twice, to say “what if?”
It’s like traversing the rocks down at any rugged beach – leaping, clambering, shuffling – anyway you can, ungainly or graceful, just making your way from one to another, trying our best not to slip and fall in between. The end point, the next cove, is always just around the corner. But those moments of flux shouldn’t be forgotten. I certainly don’t think it’s realistic to live every day like it’s your last, but I don’t want days and weeks and, who knows, even months to slip away. The older I get, the quicker those sands pass through the hourglass. It feels like I’m wheeling out the rubbish bin every other day and buying tampons every other week.
I want to be more present. This means I need to compartmentalise, to not constantly stress about the interviewee I can’t seem to reach for love nor money, to stop wasting time wondering Niue? Rarotonga? Some other island?, to shake up my routine more often with a date night like last night, where dishes, work and to-do lists were put aside entirely for one evening. To enjoy, to savour, to live.