Doldrums

dol·drums [dohl-druhmz, dol-, dawl-]

1. a state of inactivity or stagnation,

2. a belt of calms and light baffling winds north of the equator between the northern and southern trade winds in the Atlantic and Pacific oceans.

3. a dull, listless, depressed mood; low spirits.

Wikipedia also shares this poignant description: "When the winds are gone the sea actually has no swells; on a clear day the color of the sky is reflected in the water. At night the same effect, with no clouds or moon, gives one the effect of floating in space."

So here we are, definitely floating in space. Just four months into the official waiting period, and already we are a little impatient and a lot uncomfortable. All the fanfare of getting into circulation has faded, and now - we just wait. And I don't know about you, but when I have to wait, it becomes a clear test of my patience and tolerance of uncertainty.

So I'm building my tolerance with each passing day, and I suppose it's good. But it's also hard. I have most often thought of waiting as a waste of time, a signal of inefficiency. Something literally to be tolerated, like getting a cavity filled, or resisting to scratch an itch.

Our friend Laura B recently shared this poem, which she's been reading and re-reading as she awaits news about med school. Another big life change testing patience and tolerance of uncertainty. We share this big question with her, and probably with you, as well...how to live in the present while you eagerly and desperately await news about the future?

For the Interim Time

When near the end of day, life has drained
Out of light, and it is too soon
For the mind of night to have darkened things,

No place looks like itself, loss of outline
Makes everything look strangely in-between,
Unsure of what has been, or what might come.

In this wan light, even trees seem groundless.
In a while it will be night, but nothing
Here seems TO believe the relief of darkness.

You are in this time of the interim
Where everything seems withheld.

The path you took to get here has washed out;
The way forward is still concealed from you.

"The old is not old enough to have died away;
The new is still too young to be born."

You cannot lay claim to anything;
In this place of dusk,
Your eyes are blurred;
And there is no mirror.

Everyone else has lost sight of your heart
And you can see nowhere to put your trust;
You know you have to make your own way through.

As far as you can, hold your confidence.
Do not allow confusion to squander
This call which is loosening
Your roots in false ground,
That you might come free
From all you have outgrown.

What is being transfigured here is your mind,
And it is difficult and slow to become new.
The more faithfully you can endure here,
The more refined your heart will become
For your arrival in the new dawn.


from: "To Bless the Space Between Us" by John O'Donohue