In the Waiting

As the branches let go of their leaves and sailed to the earth below, I sat wondering why the process was so slow. It felt as though the grass was truly greener on the other side. We weren’t supposed to be here and not for this long. We bought a 1976 Avion Travelcader in 2018, in hopes of restoring it in one year, and here we were almost two years later.  Not to mention, we wanted to live in our camper a full year before committing to living on the road. The process all felt so long. Our days were filled with our full-time jobs, a part-time job, and school. Our lunches and afternoons were taken up by problem solving and building. We were hopelessly tired but fully committed.
            Staring at the minute-hand became second nature to wish the in-between away. For we were certainly in the in-between, constantly daydreaming about our soon to be lives—it had to be better than this. Now that we’re living this life—it is.  The green was, in fact, greener on this side.
            But would this side be greener without the in-between? That, I’m not so sure of. For it’s in the waiting we built:
 
Resilience
Patience
Communication
And daydreaming
 
Daydreaming, yes. We created a utopia in our mind that had the potential to be birthed. It’s in these inner thoughts and feelings that fostered creativity and curated goals for our trip. Without this how could the grass be greener on this side?
 
But let’s not forget that even grass has its days. Fast forward to now, we’re halfway into our trip and after multiple breakdowns we decided to buy a new truck. The process took much longer than we anticipated, but after three-and-a-half weeks we were on our way again. It was simple: drive four hours to North Platte where we would stay two nights before making it to Colorado. A few hours in, we heard a “funny noise” from our truck and knew something was not right. So, here we were again, in the waiting. Our green grass was turning yellow and disappointment set in that two nights would be closer to seven.
 
So, I sat noticing the slight chill in the spring air, looking at the soft ripples in the river, listening to the birds. Oh, the birds. Thousands, even tens of thousands, of Sandhill cranes flew overhead just as dawn approached. After three and a half weeks I was finally able to breathe. Not because all was alright in the world, but because what wasn’t right forced me to slow down, be present, and witness the extraordinary in nature.
 
These daily slow moments allowed me to fill up my watering can, for it’s in the waiting they can be filled up to water the grass where you’re going.