“Man cannot discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight of the shore.”
— André Gide

I like to call my sister the queen of scholarships; not because she always gets them, but because she always applies. And something I find especially odd is the fact that you’ll never hear her say things like, Gaaaah, I’m so nervous! Or things like, I want this. I hope I get it, or even the universal line, I hope they choose me.

And of course, that’s not to say she doesn’t think it, she just doesn’t say it and it makes me wonder if her use of stillness actually plays a role in her success. Because the truth is, I only hear about her scholarships after she’s won them. She never talks about the ones she didn’t despite spending hours writing and perfecting an essay that’ll determine her tuition’s future. No, after she submits it, it’s as if it never happened. So, there’s something about her form of patience I envy, because there’s depth to it. Her stillness — embedded inside is trust, alignment, energy, and confidence.

And I want that, too.

You know, growing up an actress, you get rejected… a lot. It’s painful, and not for the faint of heart. After every audition, my mom would tell us, “Just submit it and forget it,” because well, what’s done is done and no use crying about it now, right? But between you and me, that’s something I could never bring myself to do. How could I forget about something I wanted?

Because I did. I wanted every audition, not because of the money, but because it meant I’d be wanted, and I wanted to be wanted. Sure, the money was cool, don’t get me wrong, I’ll admit it, but being the IT girl? The chosen one? That’s what I was going for. And despite me taking a break from acting, some things never change. I still find myself yearning to be wanted and I reckon that’s one of the reasons I’ve been trying so hard to be a supervisor at my job; I want responsibility, I want to be relied on, to be seen, for my voice to matter — to matter.

And I know I’m not alone in this, so when I think about my sister and how she practices stillness during the moments that usually elicit chaos — you know, that space between applying for something and actually getting it, the wait, that’s what leaves us restless, on edge, anxious, worried, and even sometimes sad — still, she remains still. And I can’t help but wonder if there’s something she knows that I don’t.

“So, what’s the secret?” I asked her.

Here’s what she said:

[The truth?] … I don’t ever think I can win them.

Very relatable, but unfortunately not the answer I was looking for.

“Then why do you put so much time into something you’re an underdog for?” I asked.

I suppose I hope, just a tiny bit, that if no one enters, I can win.

Quite an interesting strategy, I thought.

“Well, how many have you won?”

I’ve applied for 8, and I’ve won 4.

Gasp. By just putting herself out there, not expecting to win, she’s managed to have a 1:1 ratio. A 50% chance at victory. And of course, I realize that’s not necessarily a mind-blowing response, but if you look a little closer, you can start to see the type of depth I’ve been talking about.

The way I interpret her thought-process when applying for these scholarships is that the point is not to win, but to have evidence that she exists.

You see, the way I see it, my sister willingly steps into the House of Life simply because the door is open. She sees a room, she walks in; leaves her ID so people know she was there, whether or not they were paying attention, though she’s proven that 50% of the time, it appears they do. No expectations, no strings attached, does she want the scholarship, sure, but no pressure. She just wants her name to appear on the roster; she likes to write and needs someone to read. She doesn’t wait for an invitation; she takes the liberty.

Within her stillness is the trust that being present is enough. And like I said before, half of the time, clearly, it is. She shows up, and if you ask her why, she’d give you the same response George Mallory gave the reporter who asked him why he climbs Mt. Everest,

“Because it’s there.”

Because she can.

So, something I take away from this is the lesson that I need to start embracing the space in between the start of the race and the finish; the wait.

I’ve applied for this S.I.T. (supervisor in training) program at my job four different times, and all I’ve cared about has been getting the role when really, what I should be caring about is what I receive while I’m in the room for the interview.

Evidence of my existence.

Yeah, I want it, but how often am I actually acknowledging the fact that I keep being brave enough to try and get it? It’s the trying part that needs attention, because it’s daunting, and it’s terrifying — enough to keep most people from trying at all. 8 billion people in the world, and how many actually summit Mt. Everest? How many people actually try? How many actually apply to scholarships, or supervisor roles? Yes, there is so much in this world that is over-saturated and competitive, but if you have nothing else, have stamina, because so many people give up right before it’s their time.

So, wait for your time. Apply with the hope that if no one else enters, you can win. Climb the mountain simply because it’s there.

Because you’re here, and you exist.

Be still and focus on familiarizing yourself with each step as you take it, because life is so long and I promise you if a step represents waiting, you’ll be seeing that step, A LOT.

Get comfortable with waiting, because once your name finally gets called, the taste is so sweet, and all will have been worth it.

Oh, and by the way,

I finally got into the S.I.T. program — proof that even when the House of Life locks a door, the art of waiting holds the key.

What’s something you’re waiting for?

Up next on the blog, The Curated Drop Reports to wrap up Jöön.

Cheers,
B.