We listen to the radio every morning, hoping the “Wheel of Fun” will land on trivia. We like to guess the answers and call in, Sam and I, laughing to hear our voices on the radio on occasion. Today I supplied the answer but Sam called in, laughing when he told them that waiting in line is more depressing than being home sick in bed. He doesn’t get that, not really, but was happy that the answer was right anyway, holding the line, waiting, to give them his info so he can get his Subway card in the mail.
Waiting in line doesn’t depress me, it makes me angry. I tap my foot and sigh loudly, showing my impatience in a thousand different ways all designed to let the people in front of me know how important I think I am. I hate this about myself, this feeling superior because I am so busy and have more important places to be than they do, hate how my ego constantly gets in the way of simply being. Can I just be present in the grocery store, in line at the bank, waiting for anything? Apparently not.
And I am really not all that important, nor am I that busy. Really, I am just an asshole, thinking that my time is more valuable than anyone else’s. God, what an enormously inflated sense of self-importance. I don’t want to do this today, to scurry around and feel more important than I am. I want to wait like everyone else in the world has to, want to be kind while I am waiting, want to live in the present moment no matter where I am. I want to be humble today, remembering that I wouldn’t be here were it not for having to wait, I want to remember that I love where I am.