My grandma says we spend at least half our lives waiting – for the bus, for a friend, for ourselves to be ready. She says this with an authority that I assume was rightfully reserved for the elderly who are the closest living beings to wisdom.
I’ve always been sensitive to time and its workings. How it drags on and on when we seem to have plenty, and how it slips through our fingers when we value it most. But the world won’t pause for our sensitivities as it follows the callings of gravity, spinning with steady force and determination, day after day after day after day.
You see, I graduated from university in April and quite some time has passed since then. In Italy, I lost and also found myself – in moments, places, laughter, and tears. The summer came swiftly, and we moved to the sea. Kitesurfing and serving coffee at the café with the old walnut trees. During this time I’ve achieved some goals and missed some others. Most of them had to do with consistency. Writing, and consistency.
So what’s next? I wondered as I Iay awake during balmy nights and churning storms. Was I waiting for something? Either convinced that I was too young to embrace the freelance endeavour I had always dreamed of, or trailing behind the real achievers of our time who had miraculously started their journey months if not years ahead of me, I felt trapped. My grandma’s words came back to me in those moments of doubt: We spend half our lives waiting…
While the anticipation of some event that was surely about to happen sometime in the future – one that I could focus on and work towards – seemed like a good kind of waiting at the time, I couldn’t always fool myself. What was I really accomplishing? How was I moving forward or moving at all? I could no longer deny the obvious: this was procrastination at its finest.
I don’t want to grow old only to realise that I’ve been wasting my time waiting – not for something or someone else – but for myself to be ready to be my own person. In fact, there are few things that scare me more than regret – not having said the things I’ve felt the loudest, not having pushed out of my comfort zone, afraid of failure or being misunderstood.
So here we are, at the threshold of another season. After weeks and months of searching, I finally found my Volkswagen bus and, in a characteristically impulsive manner, I wanted change and cut my hair. I’m still not sure if I’m really ready or nearly as brave as I like to believe, but I’m alive and this is the time to do the things I’ve always wanted. So that’s what I’m gonna do. Because my time is now, and so is yours.