Waiting

By the time I write my next blog, I will have the answer to the question that has been haunting me since I first put down my deposit at Notre Dame: what comes next? But for now, I am waiting. I am so, so sick of waiting. Sometimes I feel like I have been waiting forever, carrying this burden of not knowing for so long that I might burst. It often feels like my life is a never-ending routine of waiting.

I remember being thirteen and going downtown to audition for the Nutcracker. I remember sitting in the green room crying. I remember thinking, “Maybe they’ve made a mistake.” I was certain they would run into the green room or call my mom’s cell phone and say, “Yes, her, we made a mistake but we really want her.” There was no call. I wasn’t wanted.

Two years later, I sat in my mom’s car, heartbroken once again for not making the advanced dance chorus in the school’s musical. She convinced me to go back in and ask if there had been a mistake. The director sat down with me and we talked about it. He too was concerned that there had been a mistake and told me he’d contact the choreographer. For two days I waited until he gave me that call that I wanted. There had been a mistake. My waiting had been worth it.

Years flashed by and I was a senior in high school waitlisted at Notre Dame. Months were spent in limbo, not knowing where I was going to college, not knowing if my dreams were going to come true. I spent my time hoping and praying for a chance at my dream college. When my acceptance finally arrived, I had nothing but joy at the new adventure awaiting me.

Then, another two years later, I was on another waiting list, waiting to hear once again if I was good enough to study abroad in Paris. I was frustrated and heartbroken that I felt like I was constantly forced to prove myself, prove to the world that I cared enough about my dreams to make them happen. Couldn’t I possibly be enough? And of course, eventually someone believed I must be and took me off the list.

I am exhausted from the emotional weight of not knowing my future. I am anxious about the possibilities that await- the heartbreak of rejection, the profound joy of acceptance, but mostly the stomach churning uncertainty of another waitlist. Because that is the truth- I am absolutely terrified of being waitlisted again. I am terrified of being a constant second choice, of never being good enough. It is this thought that keeps me up late at night. Haven’t I been waiting long enough?

If I’ve learned anything in college, and in particular through these experiences, it is to learn to accept uncertainty. There is only so much we can do to control our future. It’s easy to make goals and chase dreams, but they all take place on God’s timeline, written in God’s pen. But knowing and believing it is one thing, living it is another. Despite all the thinking I’ve done on the subject, I still resent this period of waiting, dreading the e-mails that will decide my fate. “Sometimes I feel like I am doing all this waiting just to be rejected,” I admitted to my mom on the phone recently. I am still struggling with how to reconcile my strong desire to dream big with the heartache of being rejected. Because I don’t know if I am ready (will I ever be?) to go through the pain of rejection, but I am miserable waiting for it.

One thing I know for sure is that I don’t have all the answers. (The rest has been lost due to the blog deleting itself and me being terrible at saving things)