Waiting

It feels, sometimes, like I wait a lot—for the bus, in the grocery store check-out line, for someone else to make a decision so I can proceed with my work, for my body to heal so I can return to the activities of my choice rather than my capability. But standing here on a Friday afternoon with my fellow commuters, it occurred to me that mostly I wait for privilege—privilege with which I am so thoroughly familiar I've forgotten that what I'm waiting for is not an inalienable right. And you know what? My bus ride home tonight wasn't nearly as long as it sometimes is.