There is no anticipation for whatever I await.
\nThere is no toe tapping for time wasted,
\nnor anxiety for things not accomplished.
\nNow, on the cusp of my fifties,
\nI am not central to the lives of my children,
\nnor pursuing classes, nor checking off many items on many lists.<\/p>\n
I have discovered the joy of waiting. <\/span><\/p>\n As a young mother, wait time was wasted time. I have discovered the joy of waiting.<\/p>\n Now, as I wait, I’m cocooned in my silent, small world, I have discovered the joy of waiting.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" There is no anticipation for whatever I await. There is no toe tapping for time wasted, nor anxiety for things not accomplished. Now, on the cusp of my fifties, I am not central to the lives of my children, nor pursuing classes, nor checking off…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":308,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[13],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-63574","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-miscellaneous"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/63574","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/308"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=63574"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/63574\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":78330,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/63574\/revisions\/78330"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=63574"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=63574"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=63574"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nI could be cleaning, cooking, crafting, sewing, driving, fundraising,
\nchecking off responsibilities and feeling
\nvirtuous for their volume.
\n<\/span><\/span>As my children grew, waiting meant study time for classes,
\njamming learning into every available second.
\nUnwanted waiting in previous years morphed into exerting my mind,
\nfiring neurons that hadn’t flamed in decades.<\/span><\/p>\n
\nnapping, reading, drawing, writing,
\nfree floating down the rivers of memory and imagination.
\nTime waiting for others is a gift to myself, filling the well of inner energy,
\nsuspended between the past’s rush and tomorrow’s anticipation.
\nAs time ticks down from the middle of my life, in that space I am free from its restraints.<\/span><\/p>\n