Thinking and waiting are recurring themes in my life. They cause unnecessary drama between my ears. I find myself in a holding pattern as of late. My drive time from place to place has offered up some good insights and analogies. This week I want to share some thoughts about what may be happening when we wait.

This last year, my life journey took a sharp corner that brought some new opportunities for me. I found myself on a different path, learning new things, and doing activities I wouldn’t have considered before. The process spurred a deep wanting for more. My excitement level climbed the further I walked down the path.

A funny thing happened, though, mid-stroll. The way forward became unclear. All of the sudden, I found myself in need of further direction. I am a patient person and can roll with the minor inconveniences of life, but such an abrupt stop jolted me. To find out I was not only stopped but would be required to wait for answers made me feel gross.

If you are a serial overthinker like me then you certainly understand. Questions came to mind: Am I doing something wrong? Did I hear wrong? Am I completely making up this new path? Have I imagined the progress I felt I was making? Those questions tumble around in my mind as I wait.

During childhood, my mother played the piano at night after we went to bed. All those nights, carried off to sleep on musical notes, instilled in me a deep appreciation for classical music. She begged me to take piano lessons. I declined because I wanted to just enjoy the music, not work for it. All things considered; I wish I had.

Because I never took music lessons of any kind, my vocabulary lacks the fancy words to speak about music in an educated manner. You will have to bear with me as I try to share a beautiful analogy.

Classical music invigorates me. To my mind, musical compositions are the sound equivalent to one of those math problems that take over an entire marker board. Lots can happen at once, but there’s order in the chaos that leads to something cool.

Years ago, I discovered Ludovico Einaudi. He is an Italian pianist and composer. Einaudi’s work has blasted from my speakers behind countless hours of trying to figure out life. I embedded one of my favorites below. It may be helpful for you to listen to a little of it before I try to fill the markerboard with the math problem.

Every musical piece in existence consists of a collection. Someone somewhere pieces together instruments, and sounds from them, into music that moves us in some way at the hearing of it.

One night, a musical friend of mine suggested we play a game of add-on. He started by repeating a sound. At the beginning of each new 8 count, another person added a complimentary sound using anything at arm’s reach. We proceeded until all 10 to 12 of us were contributing to the piece. You may think it sounded terrible, but it was the opposite. I wish I had a recording of it. The uniqueness of the piece matched the group of people sitting there, and it was awesome!

Imagine with me, for just a second, every instrument on earth. Go ahead and include things that can be used to make music like spoons, washboards, sticks, etc. Now, imagine the range of sounds that each instrument can make. I imagine an infinite number of items and sounds. Do you agree? What if each human life represents a single sound among the vast array of instruments?

For me, imagining life as an infinite collection of musical forms comes easy. The thought that struck me is this: What if our waits happen when our individual sound isn’t needed for the life score God is composing at the moment? One of the beauties of any musical score is what you don’t hear.

I mentioned my mother’s piano playing. I think she played mostly at night so we kids would not ruin the song. Little me liked to randomly plunk a key in the middle of the song. It looked like fun, so I wanted to contribute.

Do you know that sound, the one made by a note that doesn’t belong? Every note isn’t used in every song, nor every instrument. In the same way, in keeping with the analogy, every human isn’t needed for every second of every storyline on earth. Does that mean some of us are unnecessary? Absolutely not! It just means that sometimes we must wait until it’s our turn again.

It’s fun when we are engaged in that thing that makes us feel good and needed. Sometimes, though, we have to wait our turn. We need not plunk random keys in someone else’s song. So, we wait. And, waiting is not in vain. Once we see it for what it is, we can capitalize on that time. Here are three suggestions:

• One of the grandest uses for that time, in my eyes, is to rest. Rest is an important component of our overall health. We can’t possibly hope to do our best work when our turn arrives if we are worn out.
• Second, we can use the time to maintain our instrument. Ask anyone who uses a musical instrument. They need tuning, cleaning, etc. to stay in good working order. The same is true of us. Often, I need an attitude check. Does that sound familiar? Also, we all need a tidying up of our what’s and why’s every now and again.
• We can use the time to improve our skills. Musicians practice their instruments. Singers sing songs. I am a writer. The more I write, the more skilled I become at using words. The better I become at using words, the more useful I become. Waiting time is also a great time to take on new knowledge to expand our options and opportunities.

Yes, this may be a simplified view of a complicated thing. It is, however, a pretty cool picture that has helped me shift my thinking and give myself a break. I hope that you too can grab a little peace for the next time you find yourself waiting.