This whole life - the job, the car, the routine, the plans, the debts, the lies - feels a lot like waiting around in a crowded lobby for a show to start. Everyone is cautiously ambitious in securing a place near the door to the theater without shoving or causing disturbance. The time seems to drag on as we all stand, shoulder to shoulder, on foot, feigning contentment, whilst our thoughts are consumed by doubt. Is the performer ill? Is there some problem with the lights? What could be taking so long?
No one likes to break the ice of negative speculation, but we all have our suspicions that despite our patience and cooperation, the show may not go on. We begin to wonder things like if and how we might have out ticket price refunded, if we could shuffle other engagements to allow our attendance at a future performance... But surely there is too much invested in the show to simply cancel it. Surely, with so many people waiting and hoping, it must go on. After all, at this point we might even be happy if it wasn't everything we had expected. We will gladly lower our expectations if the alternative is nothing at all.
We look around, straining necks, hoping to see some indication that we are not alone in our fear. Maybe we will overhear something relevant. Nothing is heard. We go on waiting. Our knees stiffen, our feet ache, our backs tire, our minds race. This is the behavioral manifestation of hope. In spite of everything, the main thought recurring amongst all others is that of the glorious production which we have so passionately awaited. How wonderful it will be! We will at least finally enjoy the opportunity to lighten the load on our legs and relax. The colors, the sounds, the energy... it will be amazing. We have already waited this long, it would be foolish to back out now. There's no telling how much longer it will be, but wouldn't we be the fool for retreating now only to hear about it later.
I wait, suffering this life of toil and tumult, for the greatest show on earth...
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