The waiting is meant to bring joy not suffering
interrogating our blocks and surrendering to what is
The fog is thick this morning, covering my little corner of the world in a misty grey. It’s officially winter, and the trees look like they've been drawn in charcoal. The moisture in the air makes it difficult to see any life beyond it. It’s a projection, I know, but I imagine everyone heading to work today feels sad. The day after Christmas, waking up to this cold, wet world heading to the car or the train before the sun is visible feels so macabre—this veil of a corpse bride weighing everything down.
I notice the thought, “I can’t wait for the sun to come out,” and it is here exactly that I can see my mistake—the place where my thoughts catch, like a record skipping, the message that’s been trying to make it through to my consciousness.
The message: The waiting is meant to bring you joy, not suffering.
Sure, the fog is here, disrupting your visibility, and yet the forests breathe in small droplets of water, moisturizing the fauna. And who am I to question that? To judge the weather and make assumptions about my neighbors and how they will react to the day nature has planned.
Every week for the last ten months I’ve enjoyed writing this newsletter. Sometimes, I find myself bursting with ideas, typing inspirations in the notes section of my phone until Monday comes, and I begin crafting what I want to say.
Mostly though, it is a process of showing up and pushing myself into the writing. Mostly, I worry that I won’t have anything to say. That the words won’t come, my ideas will be dull, or I’ll have something far too personal on my mind that will block the flow of creativity.
The spirit world tells me creativity is not something you do but is a way of being. Creativity is presence and collaboration with spirit. They tell me the five days I spend between writing newsletters are meant to be spent on presence, showing up for life, or seeking joy.
Instead, I spend them spinning stories about how I will have nothing to write about next week. I highlight shortcomings and imagine ways I will fail. I read something brilliant, and rather than enjoy it, I feel envious that I will never write anything so moving. I feel my own spirit swoon to a piece of art or music and fear I’ll never find the words to express what I feel. It is a mental trap, that I am mostly aware of and always in danger of succumbing to.
It might seem dramatic to use the words “dangerous trap” to describe potential writer's block, but it’s this type of thinking that’s kept me from living in the past. Self-denial is what keeps us separated from ourselves.
If we could operate daily with the understanding that we have the story wrong, we’d live fuller, freer lives.
What a relief to remember that the point of living isn’t to be happy but simply to be.
We can stop trying so hard to avoid our feelings and simply surrender. Being afraid of who we are or aren’t isn’t a moral failing but a calling to reach for truth. To fulfill our purpose. The spirit world doesn’t punish us or reward us. We are conditioned to believe that waiting is a punishment and assign a moral judgment to not being ready or not being “there yet.” We are always worthy of love no matter what phase we’re in.
What we experience feels more tolerable when we can stop trying to sew a silver lining into it.
I haven’t been seeing my usual signs lately. There are no hawks landing on my window ledge, no deer approaching me, and no lady bugs visiting on Christmas morning as they did the last three years.
I’m being guided to look elsewhere, perhaps within. Last week, I was stuck in traffic, and as I got off my exit and changed direction, the sun hit me full force, and I was flooded with the smell of it. In that, I could smell my grandmother's warmth, her skin. I questioned it as I always do, in disbelief. How can I smell a person who has been gone so long, and how can I possibly remember the smell so clearly, but here she is.
I smelled my own hair and lifted my sweater to my face, inhaling, trying to find a rational explanation. The scent wasn’t coming from me, and my car still smelled of sunshine and perpetual hope. I said out loud, “Is that you?” and I was rewarded with the answer as I looked up to see the car in front of me had a sticker with a large M on it—the first letter of her name, Marilyn.
There is joy in the waiting. When I spend time lamenting the lack of signs, I could almost miss them. I am chasing the next good idea when I’m meant to be living.
In the poetry class I took this year with Megan Falley, she taught “no surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader.”
The spirit world says, “What if it’s all there waiting for you at the end of the road? Can you please relax and enjoy the journey?”
If I want to be in my purpose, I have to show up, put my hands on the keyboard, and let the mystery unfold. We need to keep going like it’s all there waiting for us. Keep interrogating the blocks and stories we tell ourselves. Keep asking, what would you do if you couldn’t fail? If you knew you’d be supported? If money was not an obstacle, would you still be doing this? If you didn’t care what anyone else thought, what would you say? These questions don't have to dictate our lives, but they can reveal our traps. They can put us back on the path we’ve chosen or lead us off to create a new one.
I ask the spirit world to guide me, and I pray for the courage to keep interrogating myself without judgment.
This week between Christmas and New Year feels like a slow and sacred time to rest. No matter how we celebrate or mark the holidays, we’re all inundated with energy and expectations. This is one place where I feel free of that, and I want to thank you for being part of this space and letting me share with you.
If this season is difficult for you, I’m holding you in light and sending my love.
Sheryl
P.S. If you’d like to submit a question to my advice column, A Peek Behind the Veil,
I loved this, Sheryl. Thank you for sharing so vulnerably. May it be a restful time for us all ❤️