The Anatomy of Waiting

And why it’s so very, very hard.

Image by Scott Schell

A teacher of mine says uncertainty is scary for humans. When we relied on hunting and gathering to survive, it was evolutionarily beneficial for our bodies to freak out when we heard an unfamiliar sound. And to be soothed when we knew where to find berries in the same place, every time — that we knew with certainty, were safe to eat. We are now navigating modernity with that biology. And evolution is not a quick process.

This is why waiting is so hard. Waiting forces us to experience uncertainty — and uncertainty is triggering for humans. When we are triggered we feel fundamentally unsafe. And we don’t feel, or perform, our best. And if we are being real, when we are triggered, we mostly do and say things we regret. And make us feel terrible.

In a moment of waiting, we face a critical choice that usually happens so fast — we don’t even recognize it as a choice. I want to simplify the anatomy of waiting to illustrate this choice:

Something happens.

We experience uncertainty: true not knowing.

That stimulates our nervous system to:

A. Spin out with blame, shame, or drama in an attempt to get the pain outside of the body — and settle temporarily when the external conditions feel safer.

B. Recognize and host the discomfort — and do what is needed to soothe and settle the body-mind.

Path A creates sabotage, trauma, and suffering—it is how we make hard things harder. Buddhists call this samsara, or the wheel of suffering. Path B leads to sanity, connection, and creativity — it is our most precious human resource.

Path A is my mother tongue. And I will always speak Path B with an accent. My greatest wish, and aspiration, is that my kids can be fluent in Path B. And I work on that every goddamn day.

Last week, I had to navigate one of my least favorite parenting tasks — summer school registration. Something unexpected happened, and we didn’t get into the camp we were banking on. My biology immediately freaked out as if a saber-tooth tiger was trying to eat us. I’ve practiced enough to know this wasn’t true — but I still cried at preschool drop-off.

The humming pressure of choosing to be an entrepreneur and a mom turned way up. The floodgates of exhaustion from trying to be a conscious parent, from trying to do right by these precious creatures — burst open. My sister died when her kids were teenagers, and that wave of grief toppled over me. The terror believed I would fuck up their only childhood.

Luckily, I had the wisdom and the space to go home and pour myself a hot bath. Put in two cups of Epsom salt. Light a comforting candle, and weep.

I wept. And wept. And wept. Because of summer camp registration.

Our modern world is filled with complexity and uncertainty. Almost all of my clients are navigating some form of job insecurity right now. And I’m sharing this everyday, slightly embarrassing example because it’s so human. After that good cry I ate breakfast, got dressed, and made my way to my desk and saw clients — feeling very sober, grounded, and settled. I definitely did my best work that day.

What I really want you to hear is that it’s incredibly hard to be a human. We get hooked by fear. Emotions are overwhelming. Waiting is impossibly hard. Uncertainty is terrifying. It just is. Even if we are one of those people who puff up, get aggressive, and appear confident in the face of uncertainty. That is usually just another expression of fear — a normal reaction to the alarm bells going off in our nervous system when we don’t find safe berries. And that is not how grounded and settled feels.

The belief that we will feel better inside once we fix things outside — is super alluring. And I hope you don’t buy it.

We have to honor our biology. Catch when we are hooked. Ungrounded. Spinning out. Triggered. Feeling unsafe. And soothe. Find what you need to soothe (cuddle a dog, go for a long walk in the woods, listen to music you love, take a nice hot bath…). And give yourself a minute to feel. Don’t waste time trying to figure things out until your nervous system is settled. This is when we do our best work.

While that’s simple to say, it’s absolutely a life’s work to master. And this isn’t work we are meant to do alone. We all need support in this terrain.

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I work with individuals and teams who want to feel and perform their best. Read more about me and book time here.