Sometimes, what looks like a delay is just divine timing. Just life, writing at its own pace. But we don’t want to hear that. We live in the now-now-now culture. We refresh our feeds, binge our shows, and speed-date our way through connection. We crave acceleration. But acceleration isn’t the same as
evolution.
Movies are highlight reels of a character’s life.
They skip the Tuesday afternoons filled with doubt. The months of nothing. The late nights sitting on your bedroom floor wondering if you’re wasting your time. But life happens there—in those pauses. In those ordinary moments, we try so hard to skip.
The future doesn’t always arrive with fireworks. Sometimes, it tiptoes in through the back door while we’re busy being frustrated.
I used to try to force things. Push stories into existence before they were ready. Chase answers from people who hadn’t yet found their voice. I thought pressure was how you made progress. But most of the time, the pressure just left me breathless and
broken.
What I know now is this: the most beautiful things I’ve ever been a part of, I didn’t control. I just stayed present long enough for them to unfold.
Patience isn’t passivity. It’s a different kind of power. The power of letting life breathe. Of trusting that what’s meant for you can take the long road and still arrive on time.
That nothing meant to be yours will ever require you to destroy yourself to get it.
When I look back, I don’t remember the rushed seasons fondly. I remember the slow ones. The ones that gave me time to think, to feel, to evolve.
I still struggle with waiting. I still want things faster than they’re ready to happen. But now, when I feel
that rising anxiety—the one that says “do something, now”—I try to pause, and when I do take action, the results will come in their own time. I try to trust that what is growing in the dark is no less miraculous just because I can’t see it yet.
Because I’ve learned that life doesn’t bloom on command.
And neither do we.
Peace, love and power.
