Waiting for the car and on what will be.
Silence, nearby voices, and then music through my AirPods.
I listen and wait. I wonder how long this will take.
Both the car and the next bit of my life.
The aches of aging. The pains of stress and the troublesome.
And, of course, the physical weight of too much responsibility.
I pay attention to my body, my essence.
Or at least I’ll try. It’s been a while.
Will the oil change be enough, or will something be wrong?
How is the car holding up to aging and neglect?
Waiting for the car and what will be.
Restlessness after too much becomes a process.
Deleting accounts and tasks, reintegrating what was with what is, and letting go of dreams and hopes.
I grieve the lack of fruition beneath the shade of forgotten oaks we grew.
Wondering about new. Yet trusting.
Yes, trusting in the seeds planted in the soil and in the breath of God.
Trusting in the technicians.
Trusting in the what-next for me.
It’s only day two after the goodbyes.
It’s only been thirty minutes.
Don’t push. Allow time for maintenance.
Just be. Process, I tell myself.
I wait on the text that the car is ready for its next trip.
I wait on the Spirit, on my authentic self, to re-emerge.
Be. Feel. Notice. Breathe.
The car is ready.
My journey continues as I wait for what will be.
This is your writing I haven’t and is a good sign of life