22 - The Waiting Room
(Contains animation link at the bottom)Back in the day, before cell phones were so common, and even if you had one, there wasn’t access to the internet, going to an appointment was boring. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still boring! But at that time, it was excruciating.
I liked to be early. That wasn’t always the case, but something I later became obsessed with.
When I was in my late teens and early twenties, I was often running behind. I would barely give myself enough time to get there. When I ran into a snafu (lots of traffic, getting stuck at every red light, couldn’t find a parking spot, car almost out of gas), I was late. As a person who thrived on the approval of others, I felt bad. Often the receptionist was not nice, and sometimes I had to reschedule. Which meant I had to go through the whole process again.
I worked really hard to get my shit together so I could get places on time. This usually meant spending the entire day focusing on and waiting for the appointment. So I didn’t forget and give myself insufficient time to arrive.
It was frustrating when I would get there early, or at the very least, on time, and have to wait a very long time.
I’m here! I’m ready!
At first, I was ok. Understandably, they could be running a little behind. I expected that to an extent.
But as I continued to wait, I became more and more anxious. I would look for a clock, and keep tabs on the time. I would wonder how much longer it would be. I would watch people who came in later than me, going back to see the doctor before me. I would wonder if I was ever going to be called.
Sometimes, I would think that I had been forgotten. That while looking through the list, they had somehow missed me.
If I was by myself, I would try to read one of the magazines. If I was able to find one that interested me. If I was really on top of it (hardly ever), I would take a book. But I rarely opened it. I was too fidgety to read, and the words went in my eyes and out my brain. I didn’t retain anything. So usually, the book was just an added weight in my bag.
Mostly, I would watch people. Watch them come in, watch them go out. I would watch them choose a seat, either putting a lot of thought into it, or just plopping down into the closest chair. I watched them interact with the receptionist, either quickly checking in, or having longer, drawn-out conversations about insurance, why they were there, or who was with them.
I would study the artwork. If there were flowers (there were always flowers), I would count the amount. Usually, there were just a few. So I would see if the number of petals was the same for each one.
I would add the number of chairs in an area, then tally the number of chairs in the entire room. I would recount to see if I had been accurate the first time. After a while, I would do it all again because I couldn’t remember the first number. Or, if I did remember how many, I would count once again to see if the quantity was the same.
Like a small child, I just couldn’t be entertained while waiting. I couldn’t be productive. I would just spin my wheels, waiting to go back.
I would contemplate leaving. Did I really need to be there? Maybe another day would be better.
It was the hardest to wait when I had other plans. Something I was going to do after the appointment. If only this would happen so I could get on with my life!
Eventually I was called back. Finally! Things were starting to happen!
They took my blood pressure, weight, and asked questions for a few minutes. Maybe I changed into a paper gown and waited, uncomfortably, for the doctor.
Alright! We’re almost there!
But then I would wait again. This time, there were no people to watch. There was no magazine to read.
I would stare at the walls. There would be an exit plan on the back of the door. I would try to memorize it. Maybe a poster would warn me of the dangers of high blood pressure or not exercising.
I once waited an hour and a half. After an hour, I walked out of the room and asked if I had been forgotten. I was assured that I had not. The doctor was just running behind.
That was what it was like when I was trying to discover my purpose.
I got ready, showed up on time, and longed to be told what my purpose was. I did everything right. At least, I thought I did. I was ready. I was in the lobby, like I felt I was supposed to be doing, patiently watching for magical signs to appear.
I may have tried to be productive. I volunteered with a group that I felt was connected to my purpose. As it turned out, that time was not wasted. But I kept getting distracted by little things. Like counting petals or chairs, I focused on the small bits related to that activity instead of the overall experience.
I watched what others were doing. Was there something to be learned or gained? Could I somehow take a piece of what they were doing and mold it into my purpose?
Some days I would focus so hard, my brain wanted to explode. What am I supposed to be doing? Right this minute. Right now! I can’t take another breath until I understand why I have this breath. I can’t live until I understand why I have a life. What is the purpose in everything? What is the purpose in my existence? What am I supposed to be doing? Other people know, why don’t I?
Some days, or weeks, would go by that I gave it no thought whatsoever. I became distracted by daily chores, activities and family members. No cosmic lessons were learned and no divine steps were taken. I just got up, did my thing, ran around like a maniac, and went to bed. To do it all again the next day.
But the crazy thing I have learned, and I can only say this because I am looking backwards, is that there was purpose in the waiting.
Sometimes, it was obvious what was going on. I was learning how to be patient and I saw that. I was learning how to be calm and I saw that. I was learning how to step out of my comfort zone and I saw that.
Other times it was not obvious. Like when I was watching other people choose a seat, or looking at a poster. At first glance, I would say that I was just entertaining myself by people-watching. But actually, I could say now that I am fascinated by people’s actions and behaviors. Why did that person choose that chair? Why did that person share a long story with the receptionist? Why did some people choose to be patient while others did not?
When I was on the path to finding my purpose, and I was stuck in the waiting room, I had to have faith. Timing was so very important. Those things I was doing, the ones where I felt like I was spinning my wheels, were crucial.
Sometimes, it seemed like it was about to happen. I got excited. This is it! This is it! But then I had to wait again.
Was staring at the walls a waste of time? Usually, by memorizing the exit sign, I was familiar with the maze of hallways and able to easily navigate my way out of the building. The posters I examined were related to my visit. I was better able to understand my body and how it functioned.
Now, I can see how being called back to a room was like finding an inkling of my purpose. I was almost there, but not quite. There was more to learn. More to understand.
Just like studying the map, I needed to understand how my purpose fit into the scope of the bigger picture. Or, how understanding myself better, would help me live out my purpose.
I didn’t want to wait. I didn’t want to be patient. I had made the appointment, and I wanted to be seen. I wanted to see the doctor, and then move on with my day.
I had waited my whole life to get to that point, I didn’t want to wait any longer. I needed to find my purpose, and find joy and peace in walking in it.
Now!
I didn’t want to wait! I didn’t want to be missed!
But just like a doctor coming into the room, my purpose opened the door and walked in. Suddenly. When I least expected it.
At the right time.