The Art of Waiting

The calendar says August, but my mind is still somewhere in January, blowing out twenty-two birthday candles and filling pages of a notebook with goals I was sure I would accomplish this year. I was so excited for a new year. I had all of this motivation to change my life, to become a better version of myself, and to finally accomplish the things I had been dreaming about. But then life started happening.

I was at a job that constantly tested who I was. I felt like I couldn't fully be myself. My social life started dwindling as many of my friends graduated, got jobs, moved away, or got engaged. And I was left feeling like I was behind because I wasn't anywhere near making those same life decisions. As lonely and eye-opening as this season of life has been, it has forced me to recognize something about myself: as an empathetic person, I've stopped living my life for me and started living for my high moments.

I've paid so much attention to my successes that whenever I'm in a season that doesn't feel fulfilling, I feel lost instead of understanding that everyone has low moments. I could clap for someone else's achievement while quietly wondering why my own life felt paused.

I felt that very strongly recently when I attended some of my friends' white coat ceremony. I was genuinely happy for them. I was proud of them, and I wanted to celebrate everything they had accomplished. But somewhere in the back of my mind was the thought that I wasn't accomplishing goals like they were.

Eventually, though, I realized something: it's not that I'm not achieving anything. It's that my path doesn't look like everyone else's. And that realization brought me to a question I think many of us have to ask ourselves: We spend so much time comparing our lives to people who are accomplishing things we might want for ourselves, but do we ever stop to ask whether we're actually prepared to maintain the things we desire?

Sometimes I have to remind myself that I'm in a season of waiting so that God can teach me how to handle what I have before He blesses me with more.

When I look back at the doe-eyed version of myself who was extremely ambitious at the beginning of the year, I'm proud of her. I love that she believed in herself enough to write down all of those goals. But what she didn't prepare for were the days when she wouldn't feel like working toward them.

Sometimes I don't want to go to the gym. Sometimes I don't want to write. Sometimes I don't feel motivated to do the things I said I would do. But I've had to realize that motivation is nice, but it doesn't last. That's why we have to depend on discipline.

Waiting has taught me that progress isn't always exciting. Sometimes progress looks like doing something when no one is watching. Sometimes it looks like keeping a promise to yourself on a day when you don't feel inspired. Sometimes it looks like simply getting through a season without giving up on the person you're becoming.

There are still days when I catch myself measuring my life against someone else's timeline. I still wonder what it will feel like to hold my published novel in my hands, to make a living doing what I love, or to look around at a community of friends I've intentionally built. Those dreams haven't disappeared. If anything, they've become even more important to me.

But waiting has changed the way I see them.

I used to believe that my life existed in two parts: the life I was living now and the life that would begin once I reached my next milestone. I thought happiness was something I would finally earn after publishing my book, finding the right career, or checking enough boxes to feel like I had "caught up." Every ordinary day felt like something to endure until my real story began.

Now I wonder how many beautiful moments I almost missed because I was too busy looking ahead. I almost missed the quiet mornings that taught me discipline when motivation disappeared. I almost missed the conversations that reminded me I wasn't as alone as I felt. I almost missed the confidence that grew every time I chose to keep writing, even when no one was reading.

I almost missed the person I was becoming because I was so focused on the person I hoped to be.

Maybe that's what waiting is really for.

Not to punish us. Not to delay our dreams. But to prepare us for them.

I've spent so much time asking God, "When will You open the next door?" that I almost forgot to ask, "Who are You shaping me into while I stand here?"

Maybe the waiting has never been empty. Maybe it has been filled with quiet lessons that couldn't have been learned any other way: patience, discipline, contentment, gratitude, and the courage to keep showing up before anyone is applauding.

When I think back to the girl blowing out twenty-two birthday candles in January, I don't see someone who failed to accomplish everything she wrote in her notebook. I see someone who believed growth could only be measured by achievements.

What she couldn't have known then was that some of the most important victories would never make it onto a checklist.

She couldn't have known that learning to celebrate someone else's success without letting it diminish her own was a victory. That learning to keep writing after a difficult day was a victory. That choosing discipline over motivation was a victory. That discovering her worth wasn't dependent on how quickly life unfolded was a victory.

The calendar still says August.

Some of my goals are unfinished. Some of my prayers remain unanswered. My future is still uncertain, and I don't have a timeline for when the next chapter of my life will begin.

But maybe that's because it already has.

The art of waiting isn't learning how to put your life on hold until everything falls into place. It's learning to recognize that the ordinary, in-between moments aren't interruptions to your story— but they are the story.

And if that's true, then maybe I was never behind at all.

Maybe I was exactly where I needed to be, learning how to become the person who could one day carry the life I'd been praying for.

Waiting taught me that my life doesn't begin when I reach the next milestone. It is happening right now.

And perhaps the greatest thing I've accomplished this year isn't checking every goal off a list.

It's learning how to become someone who no longer measures the value of her life by the distance to her next milestone.