Learning to Live with Yearning: Dream Life, Figs, and the Beauty of Waiting
The cold sea licks at my feet. And I keep sinking into the sand with every gentle lap, and I want to sink deeper. Deeper still. If I sink enough, maybe I’ll stay in this moment. Perhaps the sand and ocean will swallow me whole.
If I am swallowed whole, maybe I will stay here. The lapping ocean, the sinking sand becomes the sensation of my yearning. It's the weight I feel — so heavy I could cry from the ache of it. There is this vision I can see so clearly. It's me in a small cottage by the sea. I walk the harbor streets. I write every day. With salt air breeze as my companion. And coffee. And oysters. And a lover. And seagulls. And windchimes. And lavender in the garden. And pasta sauce splashed on the burner. And dancing barefoot at dusk.
And oh god, do I yearn for it. Yearn because I am afraid I’ll never get it. And this is why I am an advocate for living your dream life right now, because I yearn. I yearn so deeply – like the waves yearn for the sand. It is a weight that sits in my chest like a physical tug—like being pulled by a tugboat through fog. I always wonder if that tug is a future me calling back through the mist or if it is a different one on a ghost ship far out at sea.
But this weight of yearning frightens me. I am afraid. I am so afraid that I won't taste these moments I yearn for. Unlike Esther, I refuse to be paralyzed by choice at my metaphorical fig tree. I believe we can taste more than one fig. I will not starve at the tree of my possibilities. I want to savor each one – I yearn for each one, so I am learning to be present for every juicy bite.
This fig will be savored soon but for now it must ripen on the tree. If picked too soon it will be green and inedible. I must wait for the sweetness — the first bite in fresh salt air. For now there are other figs ready to be savored.
