I'm Feeling Thankful

For everything but especially what takes time

Dear reader,

The oven is set to 170° and the oranges are cut into quarter inch slices. I’ve laid them out in a single layer on a baking sheet and, for the next 6 hours, I will dutifully flip them every 30 minutes to ensure they dry evenly.

I'm preparing for Friendsgiving, and I’ve decided to make a dried orange garland. This is very simple to make, though it requires a good deal of time. Even once completely dehydrated, each slice requires individual threading—a frustratingly deliberate process. But when it’s finally done, and I step back to see the citrus hanging over the archway and windows, I feel proud, content with what I’ve made.

I’m not really a patient person. It’s a trait I admire in people because it doesn’t come naturally to me. I’ve always been more inclined to rush—to push through things and get to the end result as quickly as possible. But, here, in my kitchen, with these oranges drying ever so slowly, I thought about how a process can be just as meaningful as an outcome. Some things need time. Some things can’t be rushed.

That’s something I’ve been learning about my own life too. Recently I’ve found myself in a restless state, fighting the very process of wanting and waiting. I’ve felt stuck in a liminal space–one that is neither here nor there. I have goals, hopes, desires, and I’m doing my best to take the right steps toward them. But even then, even when we go in the direction we should, some things need time. Some things can’t be rushed.

It is not, of course, that we should expect good things to happen overtime without putting in any effort. But our culture worships speed. We are constantly fed ways to optimize, to be more efficient. We forget that things that take time require patience and effort in equal measure. Instead, we’re conditioned to want results right away, to get answers now. We are a society of microwaving, not slow cooking.

Because of this, I haven’t always trusted that things that take time will work out in the end. I’ve spent many hours and days and even years subconsciously wishing for time to pass just so I can have it all figured out. But I’m starting to tune into the process more. Good things have happened when I’ve been patient, and they are always happening, sometimes it’s just slowly. It’s a process in itself—learning to trust time, to wait, to become. Much like drying oranges, time is the magic ingredient, and sometimes in life the most productive thing we can do is wait for it to do its thing.

The morning after I hosted Friendsgiving, I did a big load of laundry. It took hours to wait for it all to dry and then to fold. Later that same day, I went searching for jeans, ones that fit really comfortably but still look chic. As I went about these small, seemingly mundane tasks, I found myself reflecting on the act of waiting. The art of being patient for the things we desire most. I thought about how many of the most tedious tasks—folding laundry, finding clothes that fit just right—are the very ones that make us feel the most accomplished once they’re done. I’m starting to see that the bigger things in life are just the same. Our dreams, our careers, our beliefs. These things unfold like drying fruit—slow, steady, and then, finally, all at once.

When my family sits around the Thanksgiving table each year, my father inevitably asks us to go around and share what we’re thankful for. This year, I’ll say I am thankful for everything I have and everything I don’t yet have.

I will say I am thankful for the things that take time, for the spaces in between, and for the trust I have in the universe even when it makes me wait.

I will say I’m grateful for processes that can’t be rushed. Like the slow dry of citrus, the careful tucking of fresh sheets, the search for something that fits just right. I’ll say I’m thankful for the people there to witness it—the room full of Friendsgiving guests, my partner holding the other end of the duvet, my best friend in the dressing room next to me.

And I will say that, in a world that urges us to sprint, I am thankful for learning to walk. Slowly, steadily, and with patience, trusting that in time, everything will unfold as it should. Enjoying it as it does.

When life gives you oranges, make a garland (and don’t blame me for how long the process is)

Sincerely,

Salena