If there is something I know about myself, it is this: I do not survive in the “Waiting Place”. Remember that passage in the Dr. Seuss book, “Oh the Places You’ll Go”, where they were all just stuck in the “most useless place”? Stuck, just waiting for something or someone to change their lives or to change their truth (the truth they aren’t willing to face on their own or perhaps not strong enough to see in order to get to the other, less complicated place: acceptance).
I have always believed that I have the control to change my life, and that being in the waiting place is a choice; a choice I simply don’t make. And, yet, I find myself there from time to time and I think, “Wait, how the hell did I get here?” Inside that place, I become someone who is not vibrant or creative or happy. And, yet, we do it … no, what I mean to say, is I do it; I wait … for things I can’t even muster the courage to say out loud. Hearing it my innermost thoughts is enough to make my stomach feel that pinch of dread that only the waiting place gives me. It’s that place of limbo where a sound decision is just out of my reach. Somehow, all the messages my body sends me, so that I can see the truth, to make that sound decision, get intercepted and twisted, bogged down in the black hole of uncertainty and doubt and all those well-intentioned, life-long developed messages wind up in the quintessential cluster-F preventing the one thing I seek: clarity.
Truth lives in the fringe of clarity and at its core is this freedom … to be my absolute best self. But, the inability (or unwillingness) to hear the messages clearly keeps me inside that waiting place; it keeps me from accessing the truth so that I may live in the relief of acceptance.
And knowing this means I can choose to leave.