The Art of Waiting.

It started in a waiting room.

I was sitting there for a routine health appointment — the kind of space that’s designed to be neutral but somehow still feels vaguely tense. White walls. A few mismatched chairs. The buzz of fluorescent lights overhead. A couple of people thumbing through their phones. One person tapping their foot. Another flipping through an old magazine.

And me? I pulled out my phone and started recording a video. I called it: “How Do You Wait?”

What began as a casual observation about how we spend time in literal waiting rooms quickly turned into something more reflective — because the truth is, the way we wait in the small moments often mirrors how we wait in the big ones.

Waiting: A Common, Uncomfortable Thread.

There’s something profoundly universal about waiting. It crosses all cultures, all seasons of life.

You wait in line.

You wait for news.

You wait to heal.

You wait for clarity.

You wait to become.

But what struck me that day wasn’t just that people were waiting — it was how they were doing it. One person seemed restless. Another detached. A third just stared blankly ahead, not really seeing anything.

So I asked the question: How do you wait? Do you scroll? Do you read? Do you watch others? Do you escape? Do you sit with it?

Short-Term vs. Long-Term Waiting.

Short-term waiting is usually inconvenient. Long-term waiting can be life-defining.

In a waiting room, you have a rough idea of what’s coming next. Eventually, a nurse will call your name. You’ll be seen. You’ll move on. There’s a clear (if sometimes delayed) outcome.

But in the longer waits of life — for healing, for change, for purpose — the timeline blurs. You don’t always know when it will end. Or how. Or if.

That uncertainty is where the real discomfort lies.

Because the longer the wait, the more vulnerable you feel. Time stretches. Doubt creeps in. You start to wonder if you’ve been forgotten. Or if you’re just stuck.

The Instinct to Escape.

Modern waiting is almost never still.

We fill every second: phones, texts, apps, updates. We’ve trained ourselves to avoid the pause. To resist silence. To numb stillness with distraction.

But what if the very space we try to escape is where something essential wants to take root?

What if the wait is doing more than just delaying you? What if it’s shaping you?

What Waiting Teaches.

I’m learning — slowly — that waiting is not wasted time. It’s not passive. It’s not pointless.

It’s a classroom.

It’s a mirror.

It’s a fire that purifies and reveals.

Waiting has a way of showing us:

What we really value.

Where our hope is anchored.

How much control we’re willing to surrender.

What we trust — and who we trust — when things don’t move on our schedule.

Presence in the Pause.

There’s an art to waiting well. And like any art, it takes practice. Intention. Awareness.

It might mean learning to:

Be present instead of distracted.

Reflect instead of react.

Observe your surroundings — and yourself.

Let discomfort speak rather than silencing it.

Waiting well doesn’t mean loving the delay. It just means respecting what it might be doing in you.


That day in the clinic, I realized something about myself: I tend to rush through pauses. Even a five-minute wait makes me reach for my phone. There’s this reflex to fill the space, like emptiness is somehow wrong.

But in that moment, I stopped. I sat with it. I looked around and really saw people — not just as background characters in my day, but as fellow humans in their own wait.

And I wondered… maybe the waiting room is more than just a place you pass through. Maybe it’s a place that reflects back the deeper waits we’re all in.

The Bigger Question.

So let me ask you: How do you wait?

Not just in the doctor’s office. But in your life.

When things are delayed.

When the answer is unclear.

When the path ahead is foggy.

Do you numb the space with busyness? Or lean into it with curiosity?

Because maybe — just maybe — the wait is sacred ground.

Final Thoughts.

The next time you find yourself in a waiting room — literal or metaphorical — pause for a second. Look around. Notice your instincts. Reflect on what the wait might be teaching you.

Because waiting isn’t just what happens between the “now” and the “next.” It’s where we discover who we are becoming.