Wait to be discovered
Wait for someone to ask me to write a column on the New York Times
Wait for someone to invite me to consult on a programme
Wait for some professor to find my thoughts exhilarating and offer to be my PhD supervisor
Wait for someone important to think that my work is important
Wait for people to be persuaded
Wait for the red light to turn green
Wait for my daughter to decide which of the million rabbit stuffed toys she would bring to nap with her
Wait for my husband to decide
Wait for the 5-hour delay at the airport
Wait for myself to get over myself
Wait for others to find out about my existence
Wait for some opening so I can get my foot back into international organizations or do some work beneficial for the human race
I am done waiting
I will connect my own dots
Draw my own pictures
Today, some dots transpired into lines: turns out that someone who came to a talk I did years ago owns the magazine that organized a salon on depression today, where I was the speaker. Turns out the wife of that person who came to the talk has been reading my blog for years, and we finally met in person. Turns out this person publicized the talk on a men’s WeChat group a few days ago, of which Timmie is part and he found out I was doing a talk there. Turns out a few people on that group were part of the audience at the talk I did years ago. Turns out that group is looking for a speaker again and wanted me to do another one. Turns out people have read my blog, shared my writing. Turns out others have therefore got to know me. I am now lost in all these connections but this is proof of how scattered confusion could turn into weaves of goodness in the world.
So, I will throw myself out there even more and risk rejection, embarrassment, sneers at my manicure colours, skepticism about my age, and hence lack of god-i-do-not-even-know-what.
Strange though. I am so angry right now. Melancholic to say the least. Agitated to the extreme. Irritated by the insanity of the world and my own thoughts. Disgruntled at the stupidity of people, and even my own dog, who cannot even walk up the two steps of stairs without slipping.
It could just be PMS.