Throughout my life, I’ve often found myself waiting. During my childhood, I waited my Mother’s arrival to rescue me from the clutches of Mr. Hammon, my abuser. As I grew older, I waited for the day I could leave home, unaware that a different kind of hardship awaited me. Yet again, I found myself waiting for an escape.

I recall after my first divorce, returning from work to an empty house was a mix of relief and sadness. It felt liberating not to have demands placed on me, but also melancholic to lack someone eagerly waiting for my return. I seem like I am always waiting. Currently, I’m in a moment of waiting as I count down the hours until I meet a friend for a morning hike. However, another form of waiting persists within me.

It’s been two years since my marriage ended, and while I’m grateful for this phase of my life, a sense of waiting lingers. Perhaps I’m waiting for something elusive, a dream that might not even be attainable. Is this prolonged waiting futile? Should I release my expectations and relinquish hope for the kind of relationship founded on trust and respect? Is it wise to continue this waiting game or should I make peace with the possibility that such a relationship might remain beyond my grasp? Would I experience emotional relief by putting an end to this waiting?

And what if those aspirations simply fade away? How would life unfold if I ceased waiting altogether?