We’ve all had this experience: the appliance is broken. You call a customer service rep who is sitting at a computer in New Delhi; he tells you the repair person will be there on Thursday between one and five and that you will get a phone call a half-hour before the person arrives. Thursday comes and you start to wait, fully realizing a) the repair person probably won’t come at all and b) you will certainly not receive a phone call warning you he/she is on the way.
Such was my story yesterday. It was a truly gorgeous summer day in Vermont: 75F, sunny, breezy. I cancelled my afternoon schedule so I could await the repair person and started puttering around with small projects in the meantime. I felt a little restless, anxious. I feared I was wasting time.
I hung linens on the clothesline, trimmed suckers from the tomatoes, watered a few hanging plants, practiced advanced stain removal on a pair of Walter’s work slacks. I baked bread in the bread machine–twice, because I wasn’t very happy with the first loaf. I made a curry in the crock pot. I sat on the screen porch and read the newspaper. I didn’t turn on the radio; I stayed off the phone (in case “the call” would ever come. It did not.). I made lists. I deadheaded the petunias. I waited.
At two o’clock my anxiety was mounting. By three o’clock the anxiety was turning to resentment. Such a beautiful afternoon, I thought, and I’m wasting it just sitting around, waiting. Imagine me sitting at the kitchen table, all scowly and cross, with that thought bubble popping out of my head. Then imagine the next frame: I’m laughing at myself and the thought bubble reads “You just spent the afternoon most people wish they could have had today, leisurely picking away at little tasks, no distractions, lovely weather, all the time in the world.” I reminded myself of something I have to re-learn every now and then: it’s only “waiting” if you want to call it that. Otherwise, this condition is merely the passing of time.
The most precious lesson of waiting I’ve ever learned was on the day I had to put my dear dog, Josh, to sleep. He was very near death, struggling for each breath, curled in the corner of the living room. I had called the vet and asked to have to procedure done at home because I didn’t want Josh to be worried (he hated the vet’s office). The vet was on the way. I sat on the couch with Josh’s head on my lap and waited. But then I decided not to think of it as waiting. I decided to think of the time as the last dear minutes I could spend with my friend and that I wouldn’t count them, I would live in the stream of the present. And that made all the difference.
The repair guy arrived at six yesterday evening. The range won’t be repaired until next Thursday because he had to order some parts. I won’t be able to cook the way I usually do. We’re planning a big party for Sunday that just might be minus the potato salad. I’m sure there will be times over the next week when that old anxiety and restlessness will rise again, but I’m going to do my best to live in the stream of the present. I’ll try not to be waiting.
