Waiting

Bring a Book

We spend a lot of time waiting. We wait for the light to turn green. We wait for our coffee to brew. We wait in the emergency room. We wait for people who are late. We even wait when we are early.

My family lives on the other side of two bridges that span a canal that feels like an ocean. There’s only one road from everywhere to our house, and it narrows to two lanes before you’re even close. Anytime we go anywhere, we have two choices: plan to be early or resign to being late. We never arrive anywhere on time.

I’ve learned to bring a book. I prefer novels. I like a story you can dip in and out of. I love short stories, but they are best read in one sitting. Novels are like old friends you can pick back up with no matter how much time has passed. My favorites have magic. I like chasing rabbits that carry pocket watches, exploring wardrobes with coats that turn into trees, and wandering through the forest to find a town with a clock tower that has no hands.

You cannot arrive too early for books. They don’t care how long it takes for you to open them. They’re like broken records, always going round and round, no matter whether anyone is reading or not. They don’t care if it’s three in the morning and you can’t get back to sleep, or three in the afternoon and you’re still waiting for your two o’clock with the dentist. They don’t care if it’s raining, or snowing, or the sky is blue. They don’t care if you’re sitting in the rocking chair your wife got you for your thirtieth or parked in the truck you have been driving for a quarter of a century.

You cannot arrive too late for books. They always begin the moment you open them. No matter how long the traffic jam, Alice waits for you before she tumbles down the rabbit hole. On the morning when you’ve lost your keys and the dog has chased a rabbit into the woods, the coats wait for you to feel them turn into trees. Even when the hurricane knocks out the electricity for miles, all you have to do is turn the page and there stands the clock tower, hand free.

People tell me they’d like to read more but can’t find the time. I don’t think that’s how reading works. Nobody has extra time to read. The dog needs to go out. The kids need to get to the game. Dinner needs to be made. Everyone needs more sleep.

I think reading happens between the things we need to do, like a stream running among the stones and fallen trees we use for crossing. The only thing you need is a book, and off your imagination goes, bumping, dipping, and angling downstream while you wait to find the next solid place to step.

Peace,

Chris