Our Willingness To Wait Reveals The Value We Place On The Object We’re Waiting For

“Actually, I’m unable to wait can I speak to your manager?”

I’m such a broad sometimes.

This is the reason my credit card company has miraculously ‘forgotten’ to send my new credit card out and I was without petty cash for two weeks. Lovely. I’m busy, I don’t have 87 breaks I can take from my life to care for trivial things. Woe do I miss the times I could collect stickers, work on my acrylic painting, clip coupons, send thank you cards, not flake on lunches. You know, listen to he voices in my head. The voices—they say interesting things. You get where this is going.

I attribute waiting with being passed on, passed by, not chosen, missing the boat, something slightly short of hopeless. So since childhood I haven’t liked waiting. Patience is for the birdies who don’t have anything better to do than wait in line, wait to be replaced, wait on someone else to cook up a recipe for something else Lalanii should spaz out about.

And then, I met someone who surprises me regularly. Surprises force you to have patience.

I took up high intensity interval training. Patience begets results.

I gave up sweets, carbs, and took up stock in something I haven’t in a while:

Myself.

I’ve been trusting myself and my judgments for a good six months now. Those voices, remember (there’s quite a few in there)—I’ve quieted. I’ve started to believe in my track record. Slowing down.

I still broke a glass bowl with my lunch in it today—but it wasn’t because I was rushing. It was because I was distracted. I was looking at how beautiful it was this morning. A cerulean sky kissing a lavender cloud and two off-white birds fighting over a piece of bread until the babier bird of the two decided to give up. The mean bird walked away seemingly pissed and dismissed of the situation. Baby birdie then pecked the bread, leaving a lot of it on the floor possibly for mean bird. Mean bird swooped down and they then finished the last piece together. If I’m not shocked–or shocked—did the birdies just share?? Did I forget I was holding anything and crash goes my pyrex bowl? Score.

All worth it. Still serene. There are a few things that have tested my ‘wait limit’ but  I was able to have numerous things go wrong this week and still complete the finishing  whoo hoos on my final manuscript,  fill out paperwork, order thesis bindery, cater to a sick editor/friend, and have patience enough to accept that a few things might not go my way this week.

But they may go my way in another week.

My threshold for waiting it out… extended.

I have a certain zingy feeling  now that I have more patience. Having so has made me stronger, happier, and given me more faith, first in myself and then those around me. Before I get too ‘churchy’ I must say—when I do happen to lose my patience now, it returns quicker than it used to. I also found something I like to believe is true:

“Our willingness to wait reveals the value we place on the object we’re waiting for”

—Charles Stanley

The birdies have all gone and the magical moment passes and I’m back to waiting. Writing. Reading. Editing.

And waiting is ok, and if something passes me because I’ve been busy–waiting… there’s a good chance it’s not anything I’m meant to have. I’m valuing the person I am now. I like her better because of her patience. And in case you haven’t heard it’s a virtue.

Excuse me while I go get my masters degree real quick.

Pictures from FLOWmarket. You genius people you.

I Am Falling in Love with…

We woke up overlooking the water, french doors overlooking the bike path, his left arm crossed over my neckline and collarbone like it’d been there forever. It was such perfect poetry I thought I’d never move. But I did. I ran straight to the Keurig machine. Starbucks was needed, and I would have preferred Coffee Bean, but that would have taken too long.

Well, everyone, my vacation was superbly startling, and unreal. You know when you have unexpected moments and your heart pivots on its axis and all I could think about the whole time was… Jim Daniels.

The view from the hotel

The view from the hotel

Yes. I have fallen in love with CNF and Poetry. I recently made the switch from my major being Poetry to CNF (Creative Nonfiction). Poetry has always been my first love, but when I started putting words to the memoir I’ve been writing for eleven years, something creatively nonfictiony took over. Poetry is my minor now. I am riding the wavey-rainbow to the pot of gold, or at least to a few golden tickets. Jim Daniels is a mentor at my school and the residency schedule came out on the same night of my vacation. I checked it on my droid phone. There was no way I was concentrating on anything else.

He knew. I even heard him say something to the extent of “You are so, not, here, right, now, are you?” in front of my sugar rimmed margarita, I was just checked out, altogether. I felt bad.

Whyever the love of my life has to be writing and learning, I do not know… but it is. And it, means everything to me. My career-crush on Jim Daniels resulted in a dream after his lecture (on the residency schedule) was placed conveniently at the same time as my current mentor Christine Hale—both conveniently at 9am ON RED’S BIRTHDAY, December 15th. (Is this crazy?) I then dreamed about floating over Jim and Christine’s lectures as a ghost in two places at once—screaming because I couldn’t understand what they were both saying ‘cause they were both talking at the same time. My yell interrupted both classes and I was asked to leave. An impossible nightmare, I know. Yes, I laughed too. It’s the type of feeling that makes me never want to graduate, never stop reading, never stop educating myself. The poor guy.

The Perfect Ambiance— so colorful!

The perfect ambiance—so colorful!

Since my switch over to creative nonfiction I’ve subjected myself to possibly not being able to have Jim as a mentor, and this pains me, to the bottom of my bones. But again, my memoir’s revisions and workshops are what is most important at this time so it involved an executive decision on my part, CNF it was.

I question my ability to give enough of myself to anyone. But is my “I’m too busy” a scapegoat for not wanting to get hurt? Possibly. Is my “I’m too busy with memoir, mentor, studying” a diversion for falling for this one might cause me to have to trust, which is the number one rule I’ve seemingly already broken, somewhat. How many times do I have to fail to get it right? Rejection letters for submissions, break-ups, set-backs bigger than my panic attacks?

“Cheer up beautiful girl, you will love again and it will be magnificent”

My Daddy says things like this to me all of the time. My Mama says things like “Erase, replace.”

Brunch the morning after

Brunch the morning after

Everyone knows you can’t plan love, you can’t plan life, you can’t plan. But I plan. I plan to take 3.5 showers a day, I plan my reading schedule, my Masters lecture, responsibilities, my shopping list. When I go somewhere, I’ve usually checked the ratings, the weather, the menu and the reviews. If I haven’t, I either trust the person I’m going with, or I’m having a particularly “off” day. That’s just a “light example” of the type of over-the-top I am.

Jess McCann author of “ You Lost Him At Hello” says it’s not a game, it’s a strategy. She also says:

You need a strategy to get anywhere in life. If you wanted to start a business you would need a business strategy. If you wanted to lose weight, you would have a diet strategy. If you wanted to get your finances in order, buy a new house, land a new job, you would need a strategy!

I believe in a blueprint. I believe in growth and gradual increases. I believe that there is some type of (at least) semi-strict form that one must stick to, or else, there is not going to be any progression. No progression = boredom. Boredom eventually = unhappiness. Unhappiness + Stagnancy + Complacency= Resentment.

Resentment for anything is the worst feeling I’ve ever had. Worst feeling you’ve probably ever had, that you didn’t know you were having. This is what happens without conversation and a plan, people get let down.

Daniel G. Amen, M.D says in his book “The Brain in Love,” that “no forethought equals no foreplay. Understand how the brain works and influences our behavior—and intimate relationships.” Sometimes, the worry is worth it, sometimes the anticipation is worth it. Sometimes when you have such high hopes for career, for love, for life in general, the apprehension helps you along. Other times you freeze up.

I am in the middle of a hot pan, frozen scared. Everything on the verge of anything. Over and over and over. In the middle of a vacation, I’m stuck on impossible, planning the lectures I want at residency. In the middle of a vacation I am stuck for words, somehow I have “Talkers Block,” which far surpasses Writers Block—and my disbelief in it enough to ward it off. Which makes me [seem] less witty, carefree, and sexy. And more gigglish, nervous, and scared. I probably should have woke up surrounding him in French kisses to match the French doors, but all I could think about was if maybe Jim might read a bit of my work and give me a few words of feedback, and anyway if the guy is right, he’ll understand.

I thought about Jess McCann again who also says midway through her book: “This is real life and not a chick flick. In real life you have to be smart and savvy to get what you want.”

P.S. walking along the beach, [redacted] held my hand.

How Can We Be On The Same Page If You Ain’t Reading Out Loud?

If you’ve been following, Red said that to me the other night. In agreement of understanding as I carried on in “know-all” about the ones I love, conveniently, not listening.

 

I tend to read out loud. Now, whether or not you’ve heard me or not is a different story.

 

I’ll say a “subconscious-unconsciousness of” — too damn much. For instance if the person in front of me says he doesn’t like women who shop… all of a sudden I’m a thriftily shopping mo-fo. He doesn’t like tea? O, I only dabble in tea sipping, pinky finger flailing, honey sticks, and lattés, just dabble, lol.  Similar to Julia Roberts in Runaway Bride when it was all she could do to match her counterparts, she forgot herself.

 

I read, a lot. I read people. I speed read. I read attachments. I read magazines, marketing material, interviews, the internet, but mostly, I read out loud. I tell a person what’s wrong, generally, like most of us do — before telling them what’s right. I’m proud to recognize this, and acknowledge myself as a work in progress.

 

I write my toot off. I stay up wee hours of the night reading. Studying. I put it first when at times it should come second to some things like taking a few minutes to make the people I love happy.  Ma calls me up the other day, exhibit #1:

 

“Where da hell you beeennnnnnnn?” Her southern accent, a cheerily bit ghetto. She asks of why I haven’t called her.

 

I go on explaining and rambling off about deadlines, genre workshops, reading group, and submissions and halfway through my summary of absence, this broad is not listening. At all. I’m talking about not only not listening, but in full conversation with my niece in the background.

 

“Maaaaam, did you hear me????  You not listening! You never listen, how you gon’ ask me a question then go all off talkin’ to someone else?!” I shriek.

 

“Awhl, shiiiiiiiit, leme call ya later honey, these children are on my nerves.” She hangs up. I laugh and shake my head. Like I said, I read out loud, no one listens.

 

Example 2: an ex of mine came over about nine maybe ten one night o clock a few weeks back to listen as I read a few pages to him for proofing. After all, I can credit him for catching a lot of my run-on sentences, verb tense issues, and grammar ridiculousness. He also fully believes in my work and I love that. This particular time no sooner than shortly after his arrival did I read into about the fourth page, and I found that he had apparently took the drug opposite of No-Doze. He was full-on asleep, light snore and all. Naturally, I’m human, I was hurt.

 

He exclaimed that he was tired, which I believe he was, and that if he’d only had the pages in front of him (like his own copy) he would have stayed up. The issue is, when someone gives an über quick reason for falling short, the explanation loses its weight. A simple “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again” would have sufficed. Practice with me: “I’m sorry it, won’t happen again,“ the most important words in language, since “I love you” is overrated and everyone loves everybody.  I’m really sorry, I won’t read a damn thing to you, ever again. HAhahaha!

 

Him actually using those words might have gotten us on the same page. Simple acknowledgement and reassurance that it (hopefully) won’t happen again. Although Ma still hasn’t said a word about her tangents of rudeness, and my ex and I no longer talk, I still feel I’m learning how to better express myself, and I continue reading out loud. I just wish the right people would listen.

 

Picture taken by moi from “be happy: a little book to help you live a happy life” by Monica Sheehan.
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