The Dance of Waiting

We spend an astonishing amount of our lives waiting.

Waiting for the money. The relationship. The opportunity. The answer. The right time. The next chapter.

And sometimes waiting is exactly what we’re meant to do.

But sometimes it isn’t.

There is a dance between allowing life to unfold and stepping forward to meet it. Between trusting the timing and recognizing the moment. Between giving something space and realizing that the opportunity in front of us may not wait forever.

The trick is knowing which is which.

I was talking with my brother recently about something he would love to have: a 1963 Corvette. He’s talked about it for years. He can afford one. And yet he told me he doesn’t have one because he doesn’t know how to work on one.

My brother is 70 years old.

For God’s sake, BUY THE CORVETTE.

You can pay someone to work on it!

It made me wonder how many of us are waiting because we’ve created a condition that doesn’t actually need to exist.

I’ll do it when I have more time. When I know more. When I’m more confident. When someone else is ready. When everything lines up perfectly.

How long are we willing to wait?

None of us is promised tomorrow. That doesn’t mean we should live recklessly or grab everything we want the instant we want it. But there comes a point when “someday” can quietly become “never.”

And yet—and this is where it gets interesting—sometimes waiting really is the wisest thing we can do.

Sometimes the timing isn’t right. Sometimes something needs room to develop.

Sometimes we’re pushing so hard for an answer or an outcome that the best thing we can do is stop pushing. Allow. Trust. Let things come together in their own time.

Sometimes we know our truth, but we also know this isn’t the moment to speak it. And sometimes we know our truth and “waiting for the right time” is really another name for being afraid to say it.

So how do we know?

Maybe the question isn’t simply, Should I wait or should I act?

Maybe the better question is: What is my waiting made of?

Is it made of patience and inner knowing? Is there something in you that quietly knows, Not yet?

Or is it made of fear? Habit? Someone else’s expectations? A need for certainty? A condition you’ve decided must be met before you give yourself permission to move?

Are you allowing—or avoiding?

Are you trusting the timing—or trying to control the outcome?

Are you being patient—or letting an opportunity pass you by?

There isn’t one answer, because waiting isn’t always wise and action isn’t always courageous.

Sometimes taking action is exactly what’s needed.

Sometimes taking action is our attempt to force something that simply isn’t ready.

Sometimes waiting is an act of trust.

Sometimes waiting keeps us safely tucked away from the very thing we say we want.

That’s the dance.

It requires us to listen. Not to the loudest voice telling us to GO NOW or the frightened one giving us seventeen perfectly reasonable reasons to wait. It asks us to listen for the quieter knowing underneath all of that.

And there is something else I think we need to remember: waiting for something is not the same as putting our lives on hold while we wait for it.

How much of our lives do we spend believing we’ll be happy when something happens?

When I have enough money. When I meet the right person. When I leave this job. When the business takes off. When the book is finished. When this problem is solved. When the next chapter finally begins.

But TODAY is the chapter.

Our lives aren’t waiting somewhere in the future for us to catch up with them. They are happening right now—in the ordinary Tuesday, in the unfinished plans, in the questions that haven’t been answered yet, in the space between what was and whatever comes next.

This isn’t the time between the important parts of our lives. This is our life.

There will always be something we’re waiting for. Another answer. Another change. Another something we hope will happen.

Maybe the real challenge is learning to wait while still truly experiencing the life that is happening in the meantime.

Trust the pause when the pause feels true. Give something space when you know it needs space. Allow life to unfold without insisting that everything happen according to your timetable.

But when you know it’s time, move.

Say the thing. Take the chance. Accept the invitation. Walk through the door while it’s open.

And when you know, for God’s sake, just buy the Corvette.

From My Journey

Age changes the way you think about waiting. So does the death of a loved one. Both have reminded me that time isn’t something I want to take for granted.

Some time ago, I realized I wanted to dance with my Records. Later, I began thinking about the dance with my soul and the dance with my body. And somewhere along the way, I realized that I can see all of life as a dance.

There is the dance of waiting, the dance of relationships, the dance of change, the dance between effort and allowing. Sometimes we move toward something, sometimes we give it space. Sometimes we hold on, and sometimes we let go. We give and take. We move forward and backward, and sometimes we even move sideways for a while.

Part of the dance is flexibility—responding to what is happening rather than insisting on the next step we had planned. Sometimes we lead. Sometimes we follow.  And sometimes we’re the one moving backward, trusting even when we can’t see exactly where we’re going.

That’s part of the dance, too.