Literally, a waiting room
What are you waiting for?
I’m curious to know how you read that question. The word you chose to give weight to shifts its meaning.
WHAT are you waiting for? (What’s the sign you need to see? What will confirm what you want confirmed? What permission do you need?)
What are YOU waiting for? (How can you move from the generic or abstract, and tap deeply, specifically, into what you want?)
What are you WAITING for? (What’s stopping you acting, or moving on?)
What are you waiting for? (What’s worth being patient for? How is stillness serving you?)
Me? Well, to take things literally, I’m in a waiting room, waiting for Marcella to come out of cataract surgery. (I’m excited for her, with a dash of nerves; she’s anxious, with a dash of excitement.)
On a less pedantic note, I’ve spent much of my life bouncing between the first three, but as I edge towards a tiny bit more wisdom about life, I’m mostly curious about the final version of the question.
Patience, sitting still, taking a breath, often means noticing more. Seeing, hearing, feeling. It’s why I love the first question in the DSTM Journal, “What are you noticing?”
What do you see?
What a nice segue back to the present moment. Because, I’m also waiting to hear from Marcella what it means to see clearly again.
As I understand it, cataracts are like a dimmer switch being slowly turned down. Subtle washes of opacity build up, and then, slow-slow-quick, it’s hard to see.
Not only do things dim, but light gets distorted. Every light source starts having its own rainbows and stars and haloes. That’s probably cool for the occasional one-off, but must get distracting over time, like having your life relentlessly emoji-ed.
No doubt I’m romanticizing it, but the experience sounds like being immersed in Monet’s Waterloo Bridge, effet de brume. It makes for a great picture, but I’m glad I don’t live in a semi-permanent fog.
That said, the actual mechanics of vision are mind-blowing. It’s estimated that we see sharply at any one moment less than 1% of the world in front of us. One percent!! That’s about the size of your thumbnail held at arm’s length. The rest of it, the brain kind of sketches in for us.
So whatever it is you’re waiting for, keep a keen eye out for it. Look with intent. Who knows what might show up.
