We wait.

“Wait” can be just another evil four-letter word, for sure. I hear that. I’m absolutely pinned to the spokes, waiting for this particular wheel of time to pass, and it’s slow-going. Sometimes it seems as if it would be more expedient to get off this ride and just push the bloody cart up the hill. But as soon as you try it? Dang, that sucker’s heavy. No wonder it’s so maddeningly slow.

So you get back on and you breathe. And you grumble about the scenery until the sound of your own voice bores you to tears, and you decide that silence isn’t all that bad; that tree and that hill over there aren’t that bad either. And so you watch the scenery change until you’re pulled back to the discomfort of your perch, get up a good grumble, then look around and realize just how far you’ve come.

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