Lessons in Waiting
Lessons in Waiting
What sitting around waiting for a baby has taught me about DNF books, great art, and the importance of routines
I think I’ve started this newsletter half a dozen times over the past week, typing words, then returning to them later only to discover I’m in whole new emotional territory, and deleting.
When I say it’s been a week (well, three) of life, I mean it. June has covered the gamut: life, loss, illness, grief, and gratitude. Whatever powers conspire to shift the balance in the universe seem to have converged this month, making for one dizzying, disorienting, and emotional experience.
It’s life. And it’s nothing if not evolving, making slow laps around the sun, even in the moments it seems to be standing still.
I began drafting this week’s Substack over ten days in San Francisco waiting for my sister (my only sister) to give birth (to my only nephew). Out of fear of missing the big event, I made sure to get myself across the country before his due date, but as babies are prone to remind us: they operate on their own schedule.
My oldest child arrived on his due date, my second came three days early (and turned 8 last Monday!), so I really knew nothing of the post-due date wait – those strange, formless days in which everyone sits around suffocating the mother-to-be, eager to jump up and get things started. If I, as an onlooker, found it slightly maddening, I can only imagine how my sister felt, our collective eyes boring into her every time she stood up from the couch or made a trip to the bathroom.
As I finish writing this newsletter after returning home, I can’t help but reflect on those strange, instructive days of waiting. They reminded me of other times in my life: sitting with my father in hospice, those aimless first months of Covid, my husband’s slow and painstaking recovery from brain injury.
We all find ourselves in periods of anticipation, so what do we do with ourselves when tasked with a long wait? How do we make use of our time and keep our brains occupied and focused? What can we learn from the challenge of waiting?
Lesson #1: Commit to routines.
There were times in my life during which I would have insisted that a daily routine was impossible (being at my husband’s bedside after brain injury, for example). But I wager to correct the record on that. Because, as I’ve learned in the years since, a daily routine doesn’t have to be complicated or over-regimented to be helpful. It just has to be consistent.
It may even be as simple as,
Stretch for 5 minutes
Breathe for 5 minutes
Walk one lap outside (possible even at a hospital!)
Make a list of 3 things you’ll do today
The benefits of a routine, even one as basic as above, are innumerable and deeply grounding. What I most appreciate about a routine is that it takes me out of my head. Instead of sitting in my thoughts (which run wild in moments of anticipation), a routine is automatic and perfunctory. Do this, then do this. Life will take care of the rest.
But a routine can be stabilizing in periods other than waiting. I’ve been interested to learn how many of us share the same triggers for disorientation (a state I characterize as fuzzy brains, mental/physical health slides, lack of focus). There are moments of crisis and waiting that kick us off our feet, but even positive things like travel have the potential to loosen our footing in life.
And as glorious as the idea of summer is, it can feel a bit like being blindfolded during a game of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey. While I love the concept of unplanned days and a slower pace of life, the lack of structure during summer often translates to a lack of personal accountability.
It’s why I’m thinking a lot about routines as we prepare to spend the next four weeks in Maine. We’ve never traveled anywhere for such a long time and I’m already anticipating the landmines. Routines will be essential - not just so that my children follow through on their summer reading goals (they sure love to take advantage of two distracted parents) - but to ensure that this summer is a time of health, joy, and true renewal.
Lesson #2: Enjoy great art (and abandon the rest)
Reading can be such a fickle act during times of waiting. It’s either there for you… or it isn’t. At the beginning of Covid, it took me months to harness the focus to finish a book (thanks to Ann Patchett’s THE DUTCH HOUSE for being the first to captivate me).
During the wait for my nephew, I had the great pleasure of exploring a new mecca: the Bernal Heights Public Library, where I was able to jump from #138 in the DC Public Library system to grabbing new releases right off the shelf.
Every afternoon my sister, mom, and I would settle in for an hour of quiet reading. The underlying goal? Stop thinking about when this baby was coming. I read more this month than I have in any month of 2024, though I’m sorry to report, they weren’t all winners.
In the case of a few books, I made an executive decision to DNF (Did Not Finish). Knowing that some books don’t find their groove until later, I typically hate to DNF, but in this case, it was necessary. I needed books that would transport me, take me outside the wait, and fill me with the troubles and concerns of imaginary characters, so that I could stop eyeballing my sister from across the room.
Suffice it to say, a few books really did the trick. And I look forward to sharing them with you later this week.
Perhaps the best art-related distraction was a visit to the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art (SFMOMA). Here, we hoped to convince baby boy to make his arrival by walking thousands of steps. The gentleman at the ticket counter even promised that if he made his entrance there, he’d be the first SFMOMA baby! Sadly, even this distinction failed to persuade my nephew.
Walk we did, through fantastic exhibits featuring everything from classics by Rothko and Matisse, to a temporary exhibition on the art of noise, to my favorite piece: a video installation called The Visitors, in which a group of musicians occupy a decaying Hudson Valley mansion and create one long, beautiful song in different rooms across the house.
I can’t even explain it. It was haunting and mesmerizing and I’d happily sit through it a dozen more times if I had the chance. (In fact, I probably will since it will be there until January 2025).
Lesson #3: Everything is temporary.
At some points during the week, even while my sister was in the throes of active labor, I actually forgot there was a baby waiting at the end of this process. So it goes sometimes: the wait takes on a life of its own.
There’s such beauty in this idea - that within a life exist multiple other lives, each cycling through birth and death, a reminder that we truly contain multitudes. June saw the passing of several loved ones. My heart has been heavy for those who loved them best, and also for the memories made tender in their absence. The journey to goodbye began with a wait, its own precious chapter in the larger story.
Life’s impermanence is both its cruelest and most merciful feature. In pain and uncertainty, we pray for the swift passage of time. In joy, we wish to stretch the moments. The push and pull is what makes for a dynamic life. June was a potent reminder of these transformative contrasts.
On June 15th, 2024, a week after his anticipated due date, and right on time, my nephew, Rio Martin, joined us Earthside. I was honored to witness the moment of his arrival and I sobbed with a swell of gratitude I didn’t recognize. The experience of becoming an aunt is so different than I imagined. In my heart, I feel an overwhelming sense of protection, not just for this new life, but for the two entrusted to care for him.
Life is precious. May we commit to watching over each other, enjoying ease where we can, and finding joy in the long waits.
Congratulations to all and welcome to the world, Rio!
Lovely words and photos! Congratulations on the new nephew, too. He’s a cutie. I’m awaiting my first grandchild later in the year.