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The Anxiety of Waiting is Hell, But It Doesn’t Have To Be
My own experience has taught me that anxiety-ridden waiting periods don’t need to become your own personal hell
If there is a Hell, and I’m not sure there is, I don’t think it’s full of fiery lakes and sadistic demons. Those tortures are so impersonal that it’s hard for me to imagine what they might be like.
The hell I think of looks exactly like my local social security office: I’m in the waiting room, sitting in of those uncomfortable wooden chairs, and twiddling my thumbs while I wait for them to call my ticket number. The disgruntled security guard sits at his post in the corner with peeled eyes, and a government-mandated commercial on the TV reminds me to ask an agent if I’m eligible for Medicaid benefits. Every two or three minutes, a monotone voice calls the next ticket number over the intercom — but it’s not mine. In Hell, it would never be mine. I’m just waiting and waiting and waiting for a meeting that will never happen.
I know that this might seem like a much easier punishment than getting sliced open by demons for all eternity, but it is hell. The past ten months have taught me that the anxiety of waiting can be its own special kind of torture — but only if we let it be. With enough effort, we can put our…
