Waiting

In one of his mindfulness meditations a few years ago, Dr. Reichmann read a poem by Oriah Mountain Dreamer, The Invitation.  I was impressed at the time by a particular line: "I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments."  I decided to add hyperlinks in this entry, so that I can go back and access the links without having to search again in my devices or the Internet for my readings.

One of my favourite people, growing up, was Blaise Pascal, who in the 17th century wrote something to effect of “All of humanity’s problems stem from man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone.”  Perhaps a more colloquial phrasing would include "... to sit alone in a room and do nothing".   From his work, in particular, I like this passage from Pensées: « Quand je me suis mis quelquefois à considérer les diverses agitations des hommes et les périls et les peines où ils s’exposent dans la cour, dans la guerre, d’où naissent tant de querelles, de passions, d’entreprises hardies et souvent mauvaises, etc., j’ai dit souvent que tout le malheur des hommes vient d’une seule chose, qui est de ne savoir pas demeurer en repos dans une chambre. »  In some editions, a key phrase reads "se tenir en repos", which I prefer.  

For me, it is not about humanity's problems, but my own.  I know that I used to keep myself in repose.  In college, this was important before classes and exams.  I had to be ready to memorize classes and clear exams as fast as possible so that I can go back to play the violin.  It was also important before public speaking, recitals, and concerts, just before the conductor came out on stage.  I know that I certainly was able to do this when I was very little; I recall playing with stones in my grandma's garden.  

Life beat me up, made me worry about the next hit and catastrophe at all moments, and perhaps that is why I transitioned to reminiscence.  The problem was that I always wanted to solve the problem, which involved my built-in search algorithm that recounts data, definitions, known responses, or formulas.  That worked very well in my profession, but I was at a lost when cancer and other life situations showed up.  I wasn't able to solve the problem of my partner's approach to my illness either.

Once I learned that it was ok to not be able to solve a problem and be wrong about my approach to embrace every challenge, I was left with my inability to maintain myself in a room doing nothing.  That was difficult.  How could I not be able to solve a problem?  How could I not find the formulae and data for these challenges?  I had run into a wall and I had nothing left in me.  It was all over.  There was no more time.  The bell rang.  The bus was on his way to pick me up; destination, unknown.  The cancer journey.

Then, I heard The Invitation.  I read it slowly.  I also re-read, slowly this time, Full Catastrophe Living by Jon Kabat-Zinn, without taking notes, each phrase by itself, in the park.  I reflected on Pascal's thoughts. I discovered Marcel Proust's À la recherche du temps perdu, or, "In Search of Lost Time".  I realized that I was living elsewhere.  I hadn't got lost.  I hadn't lost time.  Time is here and now.  
For me, waiting is living.  I enjoy waiting.  I am blessed to be here and now.  I am blessed with the opportunity to wait.  I like waiting for my boys; waiting for morning; waiting for consultations and procedures; waiting in the various rooms in clinics, in particular in the oncology areas and the eye clinic.  I pray for the people working in those clinics; the nurses, staff, volunteers, doctors who dedicated their efforts to help me.  I am so blessed.  The solution to my most difficult challenge, cancer, was to be grateful to those people and to pray for them.  I also pray for other patients.  Everyone in an oncology hospital is touched by the Emperor of All Maladies, as Dr. Siddhartha Mukherjee elevated cancer to its throne.  I wait.

Waiting also affords me the time to be grateful to many people.  Waiting is also a time for self-compassion.