Waiting

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For a while now I’ve been making promises to myself that start with “After Grit comes back to the UK…” “After we move into our own place…” “After I finish this course…”

There’s always something, isn’t there? Aways something that means that we aren’t quite there yet, our life hasn’t properly started, we’re not ready stop planning and just enjoy.

When does the waiting end and our real life begin?

You know, that finished product of a life. When you can confidently say “I am THIS” instead of “I’m thinking about doing…”

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What if life isn’t the thing that happens at the end of it all?

What if life is the moments in between rushing about? The walk you take along the river when you’re tired of packing things into boxes. The food you share with your sister when something happens which means, for once, you’re in the same part of the country at the same time. The evening you spend at the cinema with friends, because you can’t study all the time (can you?).

Maybe, life is also the things you are doing to prepare. The weights you lift, the miles you run, the assignments you write to get that certificate on the wall. You know, the one which gives you permission to put yourself forward for the work you want to do.

Maybe life is packing boxes, signing tenancy agreements, and counting down the nights you continue to sleep alone.

What if this is it?

Does that mean that I can stop waiting?

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Waiting

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