This wait for the defeat of Covid-19 is exhausting. Apart from the sleeping in late (I’m enjoying this by the way), working remotely (I think I was born to work like this), I’m afraid for my weight (eating too damn much) and my social skills (nothing fantastic before).
I’m also reminded of how much I detest waiting.
Waiting is an art that I’ve always hated. I liked to plan instead, believing that a carefully planned idea or day would go exactly as planned. But it never does, something always messes it up.
Over a decade ago, on our matriculation day, my sister kept me waiting at the basement of the Faculty of Social Sciences. It was probably for less than 30 minutes, yet I was livid. We had a plan. I was to return my matric gown to the faculty of Law while she does the same at her faculty where we would meet and walk back to the Mozambique hall. I followed the plan but she didn’t. I couldn’t find her anywhere, and she wasn’t answering her phone. The longer I waited, the angrier I became. When she eventually showed up with a friend in tow, I exploded with no respect to the friend (whose identity I no longer recall) who stood gaping at me in shock.
My sister had a good reason all those years ago; the friend needed her help and she made a detour to help. But I didn’t listen. She kept me waiting, and that was an ‘heinous’ crime.
Over the years, since that day, I have learnt that the art of waiting is one taught by nature. We don’t even have to like it; nature teaches us all the same. And no matter how much we plan, life sometimes forces us to wait. Take this coronavirus for example, no one saw it coming, and when it surfaced, it was a Chinese problem and it was supposed to just stay in China. But the sneaky virus had other plans; to force us to stop and wait.
Waiting is not always a waste of time, at least, that’s what I tell myself every time I am forced to wait. Maybe something is simply being worked out – in us, and especially now, maybe also in the whole universe.
How are you dealing with the wait on your end?