I used to hate waiting. Waiting rooms. Waiting on line. Waiting for the freight train to pass. It’s my impatient, Jersey, I-have-somewhere-to-be mentality.
Yesterday, I had an appointment at a doctor’s office that is notorious for making me wait. I mean, really wait. Long, torturous hours. It makes my blood boil. The audacity! This appointment had the power to ruin my entire afternoon.
But yesterday was different. I entered the waiting room childless (childless may be the operative word here), with my reading materials, ready to wait. Bring it. I’ve got all day. Well, as long as I’m outta here by 3:30.
I relaxed into one of the cushiony, leather chairs and perused the latest Real Simple magazine, which usually accumulates dust on my nightstand for months before I have the opportunity to open it. By then, I'm reading about summer skin care in January. What good is that?
I'll have you know that yesterday, I actually read entire articles without transforming into a human jungle gym, without a little person crawling on me or tugging at my pants. It was liberating just to sit and wait, to read something that made me laugh out loud (embarrassing at times) or wonder Is this blogging material? I never once glanced at the clock, annoyed.
Heck, if waiting is the closest I can get to time alone, I’ll take it.