008: ON WAITING & WHY IT CAN BE POISON
Love, Dad, is a real-life series of ongoing letters to my children. While these letters are intended to be read by them later in life, I feel that many of us — parents and non-parents alike — connect with the stories, lessons and moments that forever bond us to those whom we love.
In this week’s letter I discuss how I’m stuck in a rut because I’ve been waiting to make the next step. I work through the process of undoing the mental blocks I’ve put around my own creativity and progress, while also explaining a fear I have of inhibiting my little ones’ ability to do by overanalyzing and selling themselves short.
-Dan
To you both,
Waiting can sometimes be a needed beat in time; a pause to reflect and assess. More often than not, though, waiting can be a sign of fear and vulnerability. This is where I find myself all too frequently today.
I find myself waiting more and more, longer and longer, with each passing year. Waiting to start these letters to you… After all, there’s a chance I might write something you disagree with or you may not find value in them at all. Waiting to start writing (in some cases, begin again) short stories and poetry… After all, I don’t have any formal education in either form and can’t possibly create anything of interest or imagination. Waiting to start a new routine to regain control of the day… After all, we have a newborn and the schedule is likely to change at the drop of a hat. Waiting to travel and experience new places and cultures… After all, traveling with little ones can be tiresome and the kids will enjoy the experience more later on in life.
With each passing moment I wait to begin, the deeper I entrench myself in details and processes that should, evidently, release me from the grips of waiting, allowing me to move about freely in the world of doing. However, details and processes conducted in this manner have proven to be nothing more than procrastination masquerading as preparation - another deliberate attempt to further delay the start.
It hasn’t - I haven’t - always been like this. Once upon a time doing came more easily. I suppose the inclination to do came from a place of wanted experience, but with that experience comes self-limitation, learned-limitation (which is really just self-limitation put off on someone else) and an unhealthy need for perfection. Layer in “waiting for the right time” and we’ve got an unruly cocktail of excuses on our hands, don’t we?
It’s with this combination of perfectionism and right-time’ism that I write this letter to you today… in a rut and needing to claw my way out. The antidote, if you haven’t guessed it by now, is to simply do and shun the limitations I’ve set upon myself. I know that I am capable of doing the things I desire because they are well within my natural and learned abilities.
I also know that you will learn more by observing than you ever will by listening. It’s in this vein I seek to stop waiting and start doing, as well. If I maintain the path I’m on, will you witness the paralysis I’m currently experiencing and later labor over every act and decision as if it were consequential and earth shattering? Conversely, will you move to action far too swiftly without taking a beat to assess the bigger picture? It’s a balance, and one I hope to help you weigh out correctly.
My hope is that I can set an example that falls somewhere in between. There is power in making the right choice – in simply doing – for yourself and with those whom you love in consideration. I want you to feel empowered to decide and to do and to make good, timely decisions.
Again, if you haven’t guessed it by now, the easiest way to begin this process is by, yes, simply doing.
Go, do, learn, adapt, do again, learn, adapt, do again… the cycle repeats infinitely.
My promise to you (and myself) is to simply do; to show you that it’s ok to chase a dream, to try something new, to feel discomfort, to stumble and to succeed. Because really, all waiting does is delay who we can be by placing far too much emphasis on who we may not be.
Until next time.
Love,
Dad
Written September 5, 2022