Take Your Time

When I was In my late 20s, a television show called "thirtysomething" burst onto the screen and quite literally took my generation by storm. And no, that's not a typo or mistake on my part on the spelling or capitalization ... that's the way the show's name appeared. Everywhere, people in their late 20s and early 30s were watching and talking about the show. Neighbors  and friends would gather to eat dinner and watch "thirtysomething," pooling their resources to hire a babysitter to watch over their collective brood while they watched their favorite show. Two of the show's main characters, Michael and Elliot, owned an advertising agency together, and I still remember being quite taken with the seeming glamor and glitz of agency life.

Having now worked in the ad world for almost 15 years, I can assure those of you who proclaim, "How cool!" when I say I work for an agency, that the advertising business is not all glitz and glamor by any means. While it is definitely fun and exciting at times to be in an environment packed with creative talent, there are also tight deadlines to meet and long hours invested in trying to either win a new client or hang onto an existing one. If I haven't learned anything else in my time as a senior editor, I've learned that timelines more often than not get shortened, that the urgent reigns supreme at all times, and that one of the greatest strengths of those who are successful in the field is to be able to quickly adjust and adapt to the ever-fluid needs of the clients.

Over the last few weeks, I've found myself in a place I've never been before ... a place of sadness, of withdrawal, of deep and permeating grief. Try as I may, and for a reason that remains baffling to me, I can't seem to leave this place just yet, not just yet. Many well-meaning family members and friends recently have told me in various forms that I should hurry up, get over it, move on, get better, be me again, find my happy, and so on. Quite honestly, I have a deep and frustrating sense of guilt because I can't seem to race through this period of my life, hurry it along, make it simply disappear.

Sometimes the most sage advice, the greatest pearls of wisdom, come from the most unexpected sources. A couple of days ago, I received an email from a young woman in my church ... a young wife and mother, half my age and yet wise far beyond her years. Her words touched my soul in a big way and caused my tears to flow like a river. As I read her compassionate and heartfelt note, I knew deep within me that she gets it ... she understands where I am and she loves me still. There's only one way to end this post, and that is with her words rather than my own. And with the most sincere and grateful thanks to my sweet young friend ... you blessed me this week, friend, you blessed me.

"It's very hard to be vulnerable. Why should we not wear armor around each other? We are vicious, nosy, selfish, and on and on. But that's the sweet cinnamon roll center of it: we aren't meant to be alone. You became vulnerable, intensely so, with your little J.R. Don't let what he did for you be for naught. Remember this: it's OK to take your time. Noah took 100 years to build the ark. Abraham and Sarah didn't conceive until they were almost 100 years old. The Bible advises more about not being hasty than against taking time. It will come ... take your time."