If I knew I would die on a Thursday, would I be as anxious to get to Friday?
Waiting is something I’ve done a great deal of in this life. It has taught me both vigilance as well as patience. Waiting has been my teacher in nonattachment. As a kid, it was so hard for me to pause, both because I was an active child but also because I loved outdoor adventure. It was all I could do to sit tight and wait until the next camping trip, the next fishing excursion. It seemed to my child’s mind that all I did was wait. And wait some more.
Yet in these times, there is very little that is predictable. Waiting on situations to change or for people to shift aside selfish motives and embrace planetary stewardship in earnest is an exercise in something far beyond ordinary waiting. It’s a waiting that may never end.
Embedded within this realization lies the inevitable bevy of opportunities: the gift of enlarging my compassionate nature. The advantage of deepening my inner practice, achieving greater parity in walking my talk. Discovering stillness in the valley of distress. Ferreting out redemptive value amidst the rubble of the mind’s landfill.