Wait, what?

I’m fishing for words to talk about being a waiter. I don’t mean the kind that works in a restaurant, although I’ve done that three times and would again. I loved those jobs. I’m talking about putting things off. When I look up the word procrastination, I see it means hesitation and vacillation, among other words, suggesting delaying tactics. That moves me further in my thought process, but I keep wondering.

In many instances, I’m decisive. I love all things cabbage but abhor anything with okra. I can listen to Scarborough Fair anytime. Slaughter of the Souls? I’d have to be drinking. I’m a laid-back staller, and here’s an example. I received a present for Christmas this year and left it in the bag for several weeks. It wasn’t because I didn’t like the gift, either; it was an exquisite pair of silky, soft pajamas, and I was excited when I first received them. My daughter-in-law gives excellent presents. When I got home, I stuck the sturdily sumptuous gift bag onto the floor of my closet, and whenever I opened the door, it greeted me in all its pretty pink splendor. Maybe I was taken by the grandeur of the packaging - it was one of those cool bags to save for future toting - and I enjoyed how nice it looked. But something else was happening between me and the pajamas; I sensed that as I left them waiting.

I impose a waiting period on other stuff, as well. Not groceries. I love food and put things like that away when I bring them home. But take clothes shopping trips, to buy new pants, tops, or a sweater. The unopened bag might sit on my closet floor for an undetermined period before I deem the items worthy to work into my wardrobe. I’ve even been known to leave a shopping bag in the trunk of my car - not even bring it into the house right away for perusing. 

Last weekend, I bought a fresh pair of sneakers in light grey for the summer season. When I dressed this morning, I yanked on the ratty blue pair I’ve been wearing all winter. I considered wearing the new ones, but this wavering part of me won out. Was the shopping so satisfying that I postponed further fulfillment with a gratification gap? I don’t know. More likely, it’s like a stranger has entered my space; I’m wary and resort to the familiar. I mulled over this blurry topic of resistance to change with Jim and felt less crazy. We laughed as our eyes landed on the frayed cuff on the grey Henley he always wears in favor of a drawer full of spiffier others. 

My father expressed the opposite position. Seconds after unwrapping a new shirt or sweater, he’d rip off the tags of said item, pull off whatever he’d been wearing, and immediately put the new item on. I saw him do that repeatedly, ceremoniously, and with a flourish that filled the room with thanks every time. I think about my hesitance and wonder what constitutes the readiness to embrace the new.

Just recently, I dismantled a room for repairs. Lickety-split: before the workers arrived, I took down pictures from walls, moved books from shelves, and removed wrapping paper, ribbons, and other stuff from cabinets into an adjacent room. This, after years of living with scuffs and stains and scratches that sorely needed attention.  Wow, this is easy, I thought—no big deal. Why did I put off this job so long? I’ll get this room back up and running soon. Wrong. The paint dried weeks ago, yet I’m only slowly putting it back together. 

I can easily knock myself down for procrastination and call myself names like ditherer. Instead, I’m turning to Mary Oliver, who, in her poem, The Messenger, states that her work is about loving the world. That's me, I tell myself, I'm like that - I love the world, too.

It’s April, and I finally befriended my luxurious, perhaps once intimidating, new pajamas. The grey sneakers I bought are returning to the store; I found a pair I like online that look much better. I’ve culled books and decided to pitch much of the junk I removed from the refurbished room and enjoy the fresh new walls. Oliver also says that for her, loving the world requires standing still and learning to be astonished.  I’m saying yes to that, and it helps me with my wondering. Change can be good, but so is that which is familiar, and it seems that both wanting and resisting coexist. Sometimes, taking in life’s goodness takes time. I like to sift options, and I like to savor. And all that doesn’t have to happen fast.