The Quiet Art of Waiting

We live in a world where almost everything is available instantly. With a tap of a screen we can order food, download a book, or connect with someone on the other side of the globe. It can be wonderful, of course — but sometimes I wonder what we’ve lost in the process.

I don’t think we’ve lost patience as a personal quality. Instead, I think we’ve lost opportunities to be patient. Modern life rarely asks us to wait. And without those invitations to pause, we can forget how rich and meaningful waiting can be.

Crafting has reminded me of this. When I work with silver clay, there’s no shortcut: once a piece is shaped, the clay must dry thoroughly overnight. After that it’s fired, cooled, and polished, each stage revealing something new. The process can’t be rushed. Waiting isn’t an interruption — it’s part of the making.

We can find joy in those pauses. There’s excitement in the anticipation, curiosity about how the piece will change from one stage to the next. The waiting makes the transformation more precious.

For me, returning to craft has been a way of reconnecting with earlier rhythms of life — slower, more spacious, filled with the simple pleasure of looking forward to what’s coming.

Perhaps you might notice where waiting still exists in your own life. It could be something as ordinary as water coming to the boil, bread rising, or a plant growing. Instead of rushing past it, what would it be like to see the waiting itself as nourishment?

Because waiting, when we let it, is not empty time. It’s an invitation: to pause, to anticipate, and to find joy in the unfolding.

Warmest regards, Catherine

© Room Fourteen Reflections, UK — psychotherapy, creativity, and wellbeing.