I learned long ago that “DIY” is not one of my strong suits.
My attention span is usually too short to craft, meaning that I leave projects half done, haphazardly put together and glue gun still plugged in, whenever something shiny passes by. I can’t focus on one thing because I find it easier to focus on 7 things, and so I’m half covered in glitter and full of great ideas, but never ending up with a final product and never thinking anything through to completion.
I would create more adorable home accents, but everytime I peruse my carefullly-curated Pinterest boards or favorite craft blogs, I end up seeing the finished products at Target and it’s so hard for me to not just buy them on site, thinking of all the time saved and frustation avoided, because when it comes to creating- though it pains me to admit – I’m not big on time spent. Call it a product of the internet generation coupled with my non-existent patience, but I absolutely hate waiting.
I mean, I HATE waiting.
I always smudge my nail polish because I move my hands too soon before it dries, I can never get my car all the way dry in the car wash because I’m ready to keep driving, and I have a compulsion to read books all in one sitting because I want to get to the next chapter and move the plot along.
I’ve been known to set out my clothes for a special event days earlier, as if preparing would speed up the calendar, and I have a long list of tactics and games to play while waiting in line, so that I don’t notice the time. I can tell you the roads to take that keep traffic moving, so that even if they end up taking more time to get to your destination in the long run, you never had to physically stop.
But, life is in a waiting period right now, and it’s driving me crazy. I’m not quite new in town but not quite a ‘local’, so I’m waiting for that transition. I’m still waiting on a job that aligns with my dreams a little more closely, or is at least full time. Plus, this whole bizarre stage is even more inviting, because everyone I know is here too. We’re all stuck in this waiting room of our twenties, falling between childhood and adulthood and waiting for the glue to dry. We’re not quite comfortable because we’re expecting the next thing and still looking for the big break.
Of course, there’s guarantee that the big deal will get signed or that we’ll become everything we dreamed, but what reason would there be to even get out of bed if we didn’t expect it? What motivation would there be if we weren’t hoping that something bigger was coming? Why would we ever try if we didn’t think there was even a .01% chance that the almost-meaningless tasks of our day would eventually lead to something even better?
So, what is there to do except swallow the bitter pill of not being settled and hang a few curtains and call this waiting room home? Because it’s going to be more ‘almosts’ and more rejection and more part-time and more waiting and waiting and waiting, but at the very least we can give it a good soundtrack and spruce up the place and write it down so that someday when we’re all on a big porch drinking the sweet tea of adulthood, we can remember that it came from sleepless nights and watching the clock and the comraderie that can only come from wishing and hoping and hustling and waiting and waiting and, yes, waiting.