If I’m honest, waiting is my super power. I can sit in plastic chairs drinking stale coffee with the best of them. Because at some point, something will arrive and reward my patience, my suffering.
At least that’s how I thought it worked. Except these days I’m feeling restless. I’m dreaming of mesas and blue sky. I’m wondering if I can chose differently? Deal myself a new hand.
What if I just threw the entire deck away? What path would I walk then?
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The Daily Post Waiting
Photo by Alice Popkorn
The Little Writer That Could 