Life has this peculiar way of sticking us in waiting rooms before we really even realize we’re in them.
This happens after particularly rigorous period of our lives: where we’ve put in the work, time, and effort and we’re waiting for the next chapter. It’s like we’re sitting in an empty doctor’s office waiting room: hands twiddling in our laps between magazine pages as we peer around the corner. That back-office door beckons to us, cooing unknown promises and progress. But we remain seated. Locked in the present with our feet fastened to the floor and our eyes fixed on the future that lives behind that door. We completely ignore the front door we entered through — the past that was there. Ahead is our only mission.
The frustrating thing about life’s waiting room is that it takes a moment before we realize we’re in them. Challenging, life-altering events happen. Then, we move forward. We heal. We put in work and expect whatever’s next to unfold. But it’s in between the healing and “what’s next” wherewe find ourselves stalled. Our feet shuffle restlessly; our minds tire of old patterns, places, and people. We’re just ready. For more, for whatever lives beyond the next door.
Or at least we think we’re ready.
Despite the frustration of life’s waiting rooms, we’re put there for a reason. Because we aren’t quite ready yet. Usually, it’s because we’re still healing from something. Other times, it’s because something is still forming behind the scenes. Not quite ready yet. Still cooking, as the kids say.
I wish I could deliver some magically poignant advice for navigating this time. Something that makes it all better. But I fear this piece is devoted to validating your experience; not nimbly navigating it.
If you find this from your own waiting room, know that I am with you. I’ve spent the last two years in waiting rooms. I was mostly unaware of it the first year. I filled my time with travel, freedom, and healing after a long period of stress. A lifetime of growth started within that timeframe, often behind the scenes. I found I was stable financially, but miserable professionally. That realization, fresh on the cusp of year two, was when I started noticing the sitting room chairs around me. Nameless and faceless magazines surrounded me. There was this sense of needing change without knowing exactly what it was yet. My feet trilled against the floor – up, down, up, down, up, down – until I’d worn invisible tracks into the grain. Sometimes the office door would flare open, then shut again. I was left gaping after it each time. It felt like I’d missed an opportunity to leave whatever purgatory I’d found myself in.
But leaving isn’t the lesson during these periods. It’s embracing the wait.
Now, I know – it sucks. The bristling, hot irritation of waiting smarts under your collar. You need to move, to go, to grow. But the best way to do that during this period is to rest and reset by focusing on yourself.
Pick a goal – or several – that you want to achieve. Write them down and let them sit within your soul until they’re ready to be nurtured. Take lots of walks. Work on the things that make your soul shine. Move the needle within yourself before you move in the world. Travel somewhere new, even if it’s just a small coffee shop down the road. Try a new workout. Breathe a little deeper. Take time to move through your current world first, before moving into your next.
I say this from a coffee shop table, tucked into a small corner. That four-of-cups wistfulness sighs beneath my skin. People enter and depart through the small front door. It’s an old door: one that swings shut and whines from the effort. The floorboards creak beneath my feet. I think about how far I’ve come this year, and the risks I ventured for myself. Not for my mother, or family, or anyone else – but for me.
Yet, something still feels stuck. Lingering. Prowling just behind the back shop door that no one uses. The lock seems to turn, twirling in greeting. My feet are ready to move, but my soul pauses. Quirks its head. It knows it must wait. That things are still in the process of coming together. This is just another waiting room – another moment to catch my breath before the next chapter unfolds.
My body is still heavy, watching that door.
I sit back. I focus on my tasks. But that door still lingers in my periphery.
Soon.
When the way opens, I will move.
Soul Reads 
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