The Lost Art Of Anticipation — 'Kids Haven't A Clue What It's Like To Wait For A Mixed Tape Or Mailed Letter'
There's pleasure in waiting, but it's becoming harder and harder for us to appreciate it.
melissamn | Shutterstock I had instructed my son to try to find the keyboard he so desperately wanted somewhere else besides Amazon because I am mostly not ordering things from Amazon anymore. Except for sometimes, like when I need something sooner than, say, six days from now.
My son found the keyboard at a slightly less evil company, but the tradeoff for supporting a slightly less evil company was an inconceivable shipping time of nearly a week.
My son’s reaction made me think about my childhood and all the things I had to wait for that he does not.
I waited for issues of Highlights in the mail, for Thursday night TV shows. I couldn’t listen to music until I rewound a cassette tape or located the right CD. I couldn’t watch a movie until we walked to the video rental shop and spent an eternity finding something we could all agree on.
In high school, I waited for catalogs, and on the rare occasion that I’d saved up enough money to buy something, I waited weeks for orders to arrive. I waited outside phone booths to make calls. I waited at bus stops, without the foggiest notion of when the bus would arrive, and I waited in various public places to meet up with various friends, trusting that they would arrive at the appointed place and time.
I know, I sound like the stereotypical aging person grumbling about “kids these days,” and waxing romantic about simpler times. And to be honest, I’m a rather impatient person. I don’t particularly like waiting. I appreciate being able to find an answer, summon a show, or order a bathmat at the click of a button.
But waiting less also means anticipating less, and I do like anticipating things.
Yesterday, for instance, marked the first day of my favorite season, and it’s not my favorite season because I enjoy it the most. As a case in point, the sky today is a monochrome gray, spitting rain outside my window. Over the next few months, the wind will whip, the sun will tease us here and there, and blossoming flowers will taunt us with their fleeting beauty.
I like spring because of the anticipation. Of summer, yes, and also of months of lingering daylight and even the welcome chill of fall. Once fall arrives though, I have a hard time actually enjoying it. I am already anticipating winter and feeling grumpy.
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They tell us to live in the moment and to appreciate the present, and I think we could all use a bit more of that, too. My future-oriented thinking doesn’t always serve me, particularly when I’m feeling anxious.
When I’m looking forward to something, the anticipation can be delicious.
The aroma of a meal I’ve spent an hour cooking before anyone sits down to eat. Photos of sweeping views on a hike I’m planning for the weekend. A mental list of funny stories to rehash with an old friend.
And yes, as we speak, I’m looking forward to a package in the mail. It’s a package of clothes from ThredUp (it’s been nearly a year since I bought any clothes for myself), which I ordered on March 12, and which I checked in on just as I sat down to write this piece because I was starting to get worried that maybe it had been delivered to the wrong home. After all, it’s been NINE DAYS.
But no, the order is still processing, and given that I’ve lived without these four shirts for my entire life, it won’t kill me to wait another week. After all, it’s more time to anticipate. I only wish my distraught son could understand that there can be joy in that.
Kerala Taylor is an award-winning writer and co-owner of a worker-owned marketing agency. Her weekly stories are dedicated to interrupting notions of what it means to be a mother, woman, worker, and wife. She writes on Medium and has recently launched a Substack publication Mom, Interrupted.
