Waiting

There are so many things I want to write about in this little white box tonight, but I feel metaphorically like I need organizing.  If you were standing in my apartment right now you would see this is actually taking place here.  There are papers, magazines, clothes, etc. all over my apartment in organized piles waiting to be filed, donated, or returned.  There are photographs waiting to be framed and art waiting to be hung.  There is a space waiting for the sofa that I finally found to arrive and the walls are waiting for a new coat of paint.  My blog has been waiting for something new to be written.  My ears are waiting for my laptop to be fixed so they can listen to all the new mixes I'm waiting to download and listen to as I be-bop around this little, lovely city I live in.  My fridge is waiting to be emptied so I can start filling it with all the cooking I've started doing again.  The books filling up my Expedit bookcase are itching to be read and all the things I've been cutting out are waiting for the vision board they are being saved for (which I spilled chai all over and had to be thrown out!).  My bed is waiting for me to sleep in it.  My bank account is waiting for the paychecks that are in the mail.  My coffeemaker is waiting for someone to figure out why it isn't working anymore.  My beautiful Porto Rico coffee is sitting in its bag smelling wonderful and being undrunk.  My clean dishes are waiting to be put away.  My blender is waiting for all the healthy drinks, masalas, and chutneys to be made in it.  And my closets are waiting for some reorganization and some purging.  (Anyone want any nice business suits, PTA mom clothes, or businessy high heels?)  The tv and the cable are gone.  Their wait ended.  And they aren't missed much.  The yoga mat is waiting for the free yoga classes I say I'll go to every week and never make it to.  And all these clothes I'm too chicken to wear cause they show me off are waiting to be worn.  The green-golden Indian silk curtains from New Delhi are waiting to be hung somewhere and my bed is waiting to find out whether it is going to be a Moroccan themed year or something else.  My journal is waiting to be written in.  My bank account is waiting for me to utilize the gym membership it is paying for.  And my email is waiting for me to read and unsubscribe from all the emails I get and save to read.  Everything is waiting for me.  I feel overwhelmed by it all after sitting and writing it all down here and I also feel it is all doable.  But none of this is the real work.  This is all the easy stuff.  Cause what I've been waiting on is my heart to shed its previous scarred self and find a new incarnation, to leave the hurt and heavy behind and walk anew into a lighter place.  I've been waiting for the courage to show up to stand up to face the critical voice.  I've been waiting for the courage to show up and stand up to all the opportunities presented to me.  I've been waiting for the fear of how and what I'll do in this land I'm hesitant to step forth into because everything about its landscape is unknown to me.  I've been waiting for the person to show up who is going to make it all safe and because there is no such external answer to this internal problem I've incorrectly tried to put people in this place.  I'm terrified that I won't be any good at this "life" that I envision for myself, although I guess intellectually that makes no sense.