The Discipline of Waiting

I had one of those days recently where I fell into a hole. I used to fall into them all the time – so often, in fact, that I thought they were a part of the natural cycle of my life, something to be managed and endured like wet weather or a boss’s temper. I had no technique for getting out of them other than to wait, which I still feel is all one can do. The question, however, is how long you’ll wait. Shorter is always better.

So, there I was at the bottom of the hole. Why was I there? It doesn’t matter. Something happened I didn’t want to happen. That’s the only reason I ever fall. And fall I did. However, it had been a while since I had been this low. I knew exactly where I was, having spent so much time there once, but it was still fresh enough an experience that I didn’t simply accept it. To be clear, as is always the case when darkness has settled in around me, I felt as though the clouds would never lift. A new reality had descended and wasn’t going anywhere.

But it was also like I was split in two. Even as I was telling my wife, “Don’t expect this to change anytime soon,” I retained some connection to my old, brighter self. Jen asked me if I wanted to talk about it. Did I ever. I chose, however, not to. “If I talk about it,” I said, “all I’ll do is complain and feel worse.” That was true. I wanted so badly to complain, it was all I wanted to do, but some part of me could still feel where that would lead. It was like when I wrote and I could tell where an idea would take me before I put it on the page.

I then began noticing every thought that floated across my mind. They were all self-pitying, hopeless, and confused. I wanted to think about something, talk about something, to follow one those ideas, but I could tell where they were headed. So, I waited. I waited as I often do at the page when nothing good is coming. This was a much, much more difficult wait, lasting hours and hours, stretching from one day to the next. But it was still just a wait, and I still had to choose my path even when misery appeared to be my only guide.

The next evening, Jen commented, “You’re out of it, aren’t you? That was quick.” It was. Almost twenty-fours exactly, which is about as short a stay in the hole as I could remember. I knew I was on my way out when the ideas finally started changing. This is a writer’s real discipline, in my experience. It’s not putting your butt in the chair. That’s easy. The real discipline is waiting when you want to move, waiting when some dark notion is calling you further into the forest, waiting until the storm you summoned has spent its rain, and some light returns to your world.

If you like the ideas and perspectives expressed here, feel free to contact me about individual coaching and group workshops.

Everyone Has What It Takes: A Writer’s Guide to the End of Self-Doubt
You can find William at: williamkenower.com