Waiting in the In-Between

Feel like singing some Tom Petty with me this morning?

“The waiiiting – is the hardest part.”

(Or maybe “Lemme get to the point – let’s rollll another joint” might be apt. That can be later if you partake, ya damn hippies. No judgment. But I digress.)

We knew the election results wouldn’t be quick. Unprecedented early voting and absentee ballots due to Covid19 and all that rot. We were warned that would be the case, and yet by 10pm yesterday, I’d just about had my fill of speculation, and what-ifs, and comparisons to 2016 results, and creative electoral mapping. My stomach was a knot and I could feel how tense my chest and neck were. I was getting nauseated.

I put down my phone and went to bed. I didn’t sleep well, waking throughout the night with that same knotted stomach.

This isn’t a post meant to crunch numbers or hypothesize on hate or speculate on how things will ultimately play out. It’s not about “how did we get here?” It’s not a post about whose values are the “right values.” Though I’m big on “therapizing”, it’s probably not really about self care or acute coping or resilience either.

It’s a post about the mess of being in the middle. It’s a post about the discomfort of waiting and the unknown.

If you’ve ever sat with a loved one, waiting for answers about health or treatment…. or started a remodeling project and lived in the limbo of a torn-up space… you know the literal pain that can manifest in The Wait.

We feel ungrounded. We hyperfocus. We’re distracted. We escape through excessive sleep. We look for security by over-planning or doing a ton of research or shopping too much. We overwork. We shirk our responsibilities. Is your mind racing, or is it stuck in mental muck? Have you gone into monk-like mutism or are you picking fights and snapping at anyone who DARES to breathe incorrectly in your vicinity? We can’t even find our car keys. Did we even eat today? When did we last shower?

And living in that space? It sucks.

It absolutely freaking sucks.

It sucks to feel like a slave to our feelings… to politics that effect us personally… to things that aren’t remotely within our control.

Before the school year began, we shifted my 9yo out of his wee little top bunkbed. He stayed in it longer than he probably should have, but he liked being cozy up there and didn’t mind that his feet essentially hung over the edge.

To put a new twin bed into the room, we had to change out his long large dresser.

To move that big beast of a dresser, we had to empty it. We had to move his mammoth collection of action figures and collectables off the mirrored shelf and into a laundry basket.

We had to get that beast downstairs to garage. I found a new-to-us narrower, taller dresser on marketplace and secured it and brought it home in my minivan. We pulled all the drawers out and got it upstairs.

We had to lug a new twin bed frame up and unbox it and put it together. We had get the mattress up the stairs and into the room.

The bed and dresser refreshed the space and gave my 9yo the room he needs and it happened over a weekend!

…But you know what’s not done?

The shelving materials that we bought aren’t up yet. They are taking up space, gathering dust. Getting tripped over.

His mammoth superhero/action figure collection? Still in that laundry basket, getting shoved around the room, tripped over, and occasionally dumped and ransacked by a tornado of a toddler (much to the frustration of our 9yo).

And I could really use that darn laundry basket for laundry. We’re a family of 6, for crud’s sake!

This was the last part of the room project. But … we’re not handy with installing shelving. It really needs to be secure, as it will go over the new bed. We’re tired. We can’t find the time. My drill is, of course, missing parts. We could try to find them… or buy new a newer, better drill … and solicit some help.

But we haven’t. And it’s maddening because we just can’t complete the project and be DONE.

So as I contemplate “life in the laundry basket” and the physical and emotional pain of The Wait, I look for grace in the midst of the mess.

No, we’re not meant to live out our days in a laundry basket. No – we’re not meant to live distracted, always stressed, and in pain and frustration. The grace for me comes when I remember that The Wait is a season. The emotions and painful experiences are not forever. That doesn’t erase the unknown of how long the season will last, but to remember it’s a season – well, that helps me.

Sending love to you in the midst of life in the laundry basket. You’re not alone. I’m right there with you, my hip aching because I’m smooshed under Thor, Batman, and mini-figures of The Beatles.

It’s not where I intend to build my life. It’s a season, it isn’t forever. It will look different soon. In the mess, it looks worst before it looks better. And good *or* bad, once we know more about what we’re dealing with – a cancer diagnosis or a possible recovery – we can start moving into what’s next, into treatment for what lies ahead.