What Are You Waiting For?

Left on read, jealousy, and the problem of patience

Patience is a lot like dancing… I notice when other people are good at it, but it’s not a skill I possess. I’ve just passed through a long season of waiting. I can be patient if I know how long I’ll be waiting. Our favorite beach restaurant has maybe a dozen indoor tables. When you figure that a decent percentage of every SEC state is spending a week in the general vicinity, the waits can get long. Really long. We waited just over two hours for a table this year - a new record for us. But the hostess was transparent the wait at check-in, and it was our choice to stay or go.

It’s different when the wait is indefinite. I feel like I’ve just taken a graduate course in patience. I’m going to be vulnerable here, in hopes that it helps someone. At the end of last year, I stepped away from 21 years in ministry, and into an uncertain future. I assumed that I would waltz into a new career, leveraging my education, skills, and experience. I was prepared to be patient, or so I thought.

I had a soft deadline of mid-March to be settled. At just the right time, I had a promising interview with a Fortune 500 company. It wasn’t a position I grew up dreaming of, but I was excited about the possibility of growth… and corporate benefits. After weeks of waiting and online assessments, I had a Zoom interview with a leadership team. It went well enough that I had high hopes that I would get the call. I picked out a new pair of boots for the new job. When the call did come, later than promised, it wasn’t the news I’d hoped for. I was devastated. I didn’t get the boots, either.

Soon after, another possibility emerged, and for a position I was genuinely excited about. After another month of waiting (and more assessments) I drove a few hours for an in-person interview with another leadership team. I felt great about that interview, and I drove home both relieved and hopeful. The call came a week later than promised, and it was more bad news. Things were getting uncomfortable on several levels.

I withdrew even more from the public. I was weary of the well-intentioned questions, “What are you up to now?” and “Where you working?” I knew people asked in good faith because they cared. I wanted more than anything to have good news to share with them. But there was no good news. So I kept networking… and fishing.

Finally, the right opportunity came along. When it happened, it happened fast. I found a home with a Fortune 500 company whose interview and onboarding process was efficient and seamless, and whose corporate values resonated with my own. I’m still taking care of people, and in ways that fit the person I’ve become over the past decade or so. I’m facing a steep learning curve, with two years and hundreds of hours of certification classes ahead. It is fulfilling, challenging work, and I am grateful to be part of it. And I went back and bought those new boots I wanted.

During my long wait, I struggled with toxic positivity. It’s hard to hold out hope when you’re living on a steady diet of rejections. My very first application was for an advocacy position in a healthcare nonprofit operating in the Mississippi Delta. It seemed like a perfect fit for me. I checked my email obsessively for days, certain that I would at least get an interview. They did respond (almost three months later) informing me that they had chosen another candidate. When reeling from rejection, I found little comfort in, “Oh the perfect thing will come along any day” and assurances of divine favor.

One rejection note assured me that I had made it really difficult for the company to choose the candidate who actually got the job.

“Dad, did you get that job you wanted? Did they call you back yet?”

Along the way I struggled to celebrate with others in their good news, whatever it was. Please don’t misunderstand me - I wasn’t jealous in that I wanted bad things for them, or that I begrudged them for their wins. I just wondered when it was going to be my turn. It wasn’t so much a question of faith or jealousy as it was a matter of statistics: surely it will be my turn soon… right? Eventually, it was my turn.

So what’s the moral of the story here? It’s a common theme in my writing: finding beauty and goodness in the wait. If you’re looking for a happy ending, you should probably stream a Disney movie, because real life isn’t that good at writing them. There’s a lot of truth in that great song from three decades ago: some people wait forever for ships that don’t come in.

My unexpectedly long wait gave me the time I needed to heal from the past and rest for the future. I’m in a better position to face my new adventure with the benefit of additional time off between responsibilities.

I don’t think I’ve lived a charmed life, but I know been privileged in many ways. I’ve worked and studied hard, but I’ve not done it alone. And here’s that transparency I promised earlier: those job rejections were some of the very few times in my life when I felt like a failure. For the most part, whenever I set a goal, I accomplished it. Maybe I should’ve set bigger goals along the way, but that’s not the point right now. At 45, I felt bitter disappointment, and it was almost totally foreign to me.

So I would dust myself off and apply again. I would put on ‘real’ pants for another interview, trusting that eventually it would be my turn to get the phone call I would be happy to share with others. I just didn’t want to be reminded of it in front of the frozen pizzas.

I’m talking about it now because eventually we all taste the bitterness of rejection and disappointment. I could pretend that I was patient all those months and that things were easy. You might be jealous of me, but you probably couldn’t relate to me. Acknowledging impatience, embarrasment, rejection, and closed doors actually opens the door to growth and understanding.

Are you on the waiting list with no way to check your place in line? Are you tired of hearing other names being called? When will it be your turn? What are you waiting for?

May we all have more patience when we need it.

May we all be more gentle with each other, even when our intentions are good.

And may we find something beautiful to occupy our unquiet minds until it’s our turn again.