The "Waiting Room" Season
Some days I find myself pacing the floor, my mind moving a million miles a second. I’m not anxious. I’m not worried. I just feel like I’m waiting on something. That something I can’t explain. I honestly don’t know what it is — but I do know it’s something. Maybe I’m waiting for peace. Or closure. Direction. Permission. Or maybe I’m waiting for a new version of myself to arrive. I’m learning that this kind of waiting doesn’t come with instructions. There’s no sign on the wall telling me how long I’ll be here or what happens next. I can’t rush it. I can’t fix it. I can’t force clarity to show up before it’s ready. This season has slowed me down and stripped away my usual distractions, leaving me with nothing but honesty — and that kind of honesty can feel unsettling when you’re used to surviving by staying busy. This season feels like sitting in a doctor’s office. You’re waiting quietly, half-aware of time, half-lost in your thoughts. Then the door opens and, for a moment, your heart...