Waiting is hard.

Steve and I are waiting for our next set of orders with the Navy. Nothing is official until you have those papers in hand, so we’re waiting.

Lots of scenarios.

Lots of maybes.

Lots of there’s a chance you might be . . .

But, the reality is, we’re waiting. Waiting for our life to change, probably. Waiting for our life to stay the same, maybe. Trying to hold emotional space for all possibilities. Trying to name desires and, at the same time, relinquish the outcome. This is pure work for me.

Waiting is a complete release of control. That’s probably what makes it so hard. We have to sit still without any real power, any real choice, other than the option to do the work of waiting well.

The pent up energy of wanting to hold orders in my hand – have it all down in writing – makes me want to do something, anything. But doing anything at this point is really wasted energy. So I’m invited to do what I don’t naturally do well: just keep breathing and let things unfold. Practically impossible, really.

In the midst of waiting, I’m processing what I want for my kids, my marriage, myself.

Isn’t it strange that wrapped up in the same human being is both the intense longing to settle, put down roots, nest, claim a place AND the wild longing to run toward adventure, risk, unknown, change, journey?

My Pirate and I may be headed for the high seas . . . the gypsy in me is dazzled. The housewife in me is scared.

No matter, we wait. The hardest and the holiest work.

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