Go stand in a line. Pick a line made up of individuals rather than groups (think: order/checkout line at the grocery or cafe, not so much passport control at the airport). Now take a moment to look around before you fiddle with your phone. It’s very likely everyone else is already fiddling with theirs. Scrolling on quick dopamine hit after dopamine hit, hyper-optimizing by futilely clearing their inbox against the unstoppable deluge, shooting off yet another “we should meet up sometime” text to someone they’re unlikely to ever meet up anytime soon, constant refreshing for that DM they know they shouldn’t be pining for. Really anything to avoid the void of waiting. There’s something particularly painful about waiting in line especially if there’s no once-in-a-lifetime experience at the end. No viral pastry. No sold out Taylor Swift concert. Perhaps it’s that we’re loathe to wait on something we know to be mundane. Or maybe it’s just the maddening unknown of how long it’ll actually take to get to the end. Is that why waiting makes the sought after, Insta-famous meal at the end seemingly taste better? Is that why visibly posting the remaining wait time in an hour long queue makes waiting in said line more bearable than stewing in a 15 minute one with no sign? Better to grab a ticket and watch your number approach than to simply wait for your name to be called? Such is our intolerance for the wait that we’re willing to shell out to avoid it. Disney FastPass. Global Entry. A ward against the thought that life is passing us by while we stand still.

Go stand in a line. Any line really this time. Notice that instead of a void of nothingness, creeping in to confront you with all those feelings you’ve been running away from – though this may indeed happen – you’ll notice a world alive. Outside my particular cafe: a flash of orange from a food deliveryman on a souped up e-bike, a loud gaggle of high schoolers clutching cold croissants for lunch, the sound of unseen crows and seagulls, a tram slowing to chime exasperatedly at a tourist meandering across the road, a shivering dog against the mud-red pavement slick with the Dutch rain. Inside: another order of cappuccino post 11 o’clock, the faint smell of the uncleaned bathroom upstairs wafting down, the loud whir of decaf coffee being ground, sounds from outside temporarily amplified every time the door is opened. In my head, imaginary conversations with myself in Italian where the prepositions are never wrong. Interrupted by having to order tea in Dutch. Accidentally slipping into corporate jargon while I think of my next meeting. Why must we attempt to fill our waits when the waits are already full?

It’s been 3 years since I’ve moved here. In many ways I’m still waiting. 2 more years to citizenship. 14 to acquire the necessary funds. 2 months to afford a new couch. 1 month to my next flight. 6 months to complete another solar revolution. An indefinite amount of time til I speak the right words to express the right thoughts. But waiting doesn’t mean sitting still as life passes by on the other side of the rain-splattered cafe window. If I take a moment to peer up from my phone, slowly shuffling forward in the queue, I can see: “Here too, life.”