Waiting, in and of itself, can be extremely tiring and mentally taxing. As you watch that clock tick, your mind starts creating an infinite list of possibilities, none of which can create an immediate impact on the final outcome. It also triggers a feeling of anxiety, and you're sitting there biting your nails, palms sweating and heart rate increasing. The way one lives, creates, speaks, and impacts others has little to substantial life's weight, and as it leans towards the latter, that level of uneasiness magnifies and patience becomes a test of sanity and how well you can recover from a waning self with that glimmering, yet faint fairy light called hope dangling 3 cm in front of you (picture a deep sea Anglerfish, but something a bit more physically pleasant). Once that waiting game is over, the heavy backpack you carried, with stones of invisible mental outcomes, feels more like a weightless cloud and you can finally open up that chest for a deep breath of air. That's what February 19th was for me. And from here, it's all a GO. And I have to keep telling myself that.
Waiting is always going to be part of life. Like a 3/4 beat silence in a composition, a moment of quiet is still part of the musical picture. It breathes and has a life of its own. So don't be hasty and give silence the time that it needs. When the timing's right, silence can be broken with a cooped up energy that brings the dormant into the waking light and the story - your story - will continue.