Hi Beautifuls!
Until I was diagnosed with cancer, I didn’t know how much of my life I’d spent waiting. I was mostly oblivious to it, and on the rare occasion that I wasn’t oblivious––I was sure my waiting was the right path. Most of us are almost always waiting for something in our lives to change so that our lives will be better. We believe we’ll feel happier, hotter, more comfortable, more complete, and ultimately more alive. We think, once I find a partner, once I get a better job, once my child gets sober, once I get pregnant, once the weekend comes, once I get out of this town, once this pimple pops, once I’m not sick––my life will begin.
Waiting makes so much sense, especially when we’re suffering, but it doesn’t tend to brew a whole lot of joy. More often than not, when we get the thing we are after (if we get the thing we are after) our gratitude is fleeting. Instead of settling into life, we commonly begin anticipating the next thing to make our lives good.
I had unknowingly lived this way prior to my diagnosis. My thoughts were almost always in the future, and so my happiness lived in the future too. I was almost never in the moment I was in.
When I was told I had cancer, my instincts changed. I knew I was in no position to wait for things to be wonderful to love my life and to live it fully. Not knowing if I’d live through chemo, I couldn’t say, “I’m going to party when my (epic and iconic) hair grows back.” I learned to stop waiting for pain to go away and find the party whenever I could. I owed myself a relentless commitment to celebrating my life every moment I was here, regardless if that celebration was in the chemo room on a Friday morning when all my friends were at the beach.
Here’s what happened when I stopped waiting: I stopped caring that I wasn’t at the beach. I wanted to be wherever I was. I actually grew to love the chemo room. That’s an odd thing to say, I know. But because I wasn’t waiting to be somewhere else while I was there, I was able to appreciate what was there. Coffee. Snacks packed and prepared meticulously by my partner. Soft blankets mailed to me by my friends. The kindest nurses in the world. And more than anything—other people who really and truly understood what I was going through.
I have found a very simple way to stop waiting in my life and that is this: notice when I’m doing it. From there I can choose to pull away from the telescope of looking so far into the future for a bright light, and notice instead all that sparkles around me.
Through this process I’ve learned how to find peace at times I would have otherwise found it impossible to find peace. The other night I had a pain flare from my recent surgery and as I made the focused decision to not need to go away I experienced one of the most incredible moments of my life. I was filled with a deep and permeating sense of being loved and held by the universe. It was a feeling writer Michael Singer has referred to as “divine intoxication.” No, the pain didn’t go away in that instant, but it absolutely wowed me to see that I could be in pain and feel an abundance of love at the same time. (It doesn’t always work that way for me, of course. But because it did in that moment, I now know it is possible.)
Today I invite you to start noticing when and where in your life you are waiting. Where are you pressing pause on the music of your life, when you might be able to appreciate the notes of right now? It can help to start with the little things. What might you change if, at the beginning of your work shift, you were not already mentally clocking out? For me, such practices have increased my capacity to greet challenges with grace, and I hope the same happens for you.
Love, Andrea (here & now) 🖤