It is my security blanket, my safety net, my strength. Like an anchor, it holds me and binds me to one place. Restless pacing aside, I cannot move. The length of the room is the further est I can let myself go before the anticipation of its coming, and the despair at missing it, calls me back.
Eventually, over the days, I learn one simple fact. It does not come when I want it to; it comes when I least expect it. I learn to sit with serenity, and eventually to do other things in the time that I wait. I read, I work. I think, I dream. I live, it is true, because living does not stop even when one does not live that life to the fullest. I talk, I laugh, I cry. But always, amidst all chaos that surrounds me and the whirlpool that tries to pull my attention away, one corner of my mind and heart – even my soul – are keyed to that corner, that anchor.
I linger, knowing that the moment it comes, my heart will take a wild leap of joy, and I will go to receive it with more energy and enthusiasm than I have for anything else in my day … or night.
So I wait.
As time drags on, and there is no sign of it, I must admit my tolerance fades and patience grows thin. Yet I wait, patiently or impatiently, for it does not care. What does it wait for? It will humble me, and then it will come. Or will it?
I run full tilt towards it, this fixed point of my life, as my patience pays off.
The phone is ringing.