I feel a little like the characters in the famous play, Waiting for God, by Samuel Becket. Lately, like Estragon and Vladimir, I am not even sure what day it is half of the time. Like Vladimir, I feel like I’m basically living the same day over and over. My past life of travel and new explorations are over, and I find myself waiting all of the time these days.
Because Ken moves so slowly, whenever we are going someplace together, I need to wait for him because his walking has become so labored. When I take our friend Patrick out for coffee, I have to wait for the two of them, only running ahead to open the door. Now, I’m waiting for the “next shoe to fall” with my father’s ailing health. The waiting goes on and on. I wait for the UPS guy to deliver my latest novel to my front door. I wait for inspiration to come for a new post everyday for my blog. I’m also waiting for my editor to get back to me about “Stephania in America.” And so it goes.
Am I really living a life like the play where nothing really happens, but yet audiences stay glued to their seats?
As in the play, years pass. Time has no meaning, but yet it changes both characters. Even with the sameness of everyday, time seems to go faster for me. Here it is Saturday and I really don’t know where the week has gone. The only exciting thing I did was teach a writing class and cut the grass.
But everyday brought a surprise. On Monday, a dear friend had us over for lunch. We talked about her daughter’s wedding that would happen on May 31 in Cancun, Mexico. On Tuesday, we enjoyed a lunch outside. On Wednesday, I had one of my older students open up to me about her struggle for a better life. Our life stories have been very similar, so I could encourage her with what has happened in my life. I asked her if she ever had a house plant that no matter what you did, it failed to flourish until you moved it to another location, and then it flourished. I told her that she just hadn’t found her place yet and she needed to keep exploring. On Thursday, Ken and I enjoyed a date at a nice restaurant because he finally felt strong enough to get out of the house. On Friday, I got the best gift of all. My father had rebounded from wanting his angel wings to routing for another Chicago Cubs victory against the Southside White Sox team. And here it is Saturday already. How did that happen?
Unlike the bleakness of the play, which has gotten audiences to guess at it’s true meaning for years, my life seems to be a quest for peace and joy. I don’t see my surroundings as dull, even though they are very mundane. So what does it all mean?
Perhaps the true joy of life is in the waiting to see what the day has in store. I figure it’s my job to make the wait worthwhile. Forget Godot. Go on without him. I’ve found my path in caregiving for people I love and my joy in writing. Who could ask for more?