The Art of Waiting for Nothing
If there is one skill the army trains to Olympic level, it is waiting.
The camp commander says, “All men assemble at 8am.”
The OC says, “7.30am.”
The platoon sergeant says, “7am.”
By the time the message reaches you, you are standing in formation at 6.45am, fully dressed, boots polished, soul slightly detached from body.
And then?
You wait.
You don’t know what for. You just wait.
In civilian life, people talk about learning patience through meditation.
In the army, patience is not spiritual.
It is compulsory.
You stand there long enough and you start questioning everything.
Why am I here?
What is time?
Is 8am even real?
The funniest part is this: nothing usually happens at 8am.
Sometimes the higher command is late.
Sometimes the plan changes.
Sometimes the meeting gets postponed.
But you are already there. Early. Alert. Sweating gently in the morning sun.
The army didn’t just teach me discipline.
It taught me how much of life is spent waiting for things I cannot control.
We wait for the storm to run out of water.
We wait for winter to pass.
We wait for our girlfriend to say yes.
We wait for our children to grow up so that we can “finally rest.”
We wait for promotion.
We wait for opportunity.
We wait for the “right time.”
And sometimes, like in the army parade square, the “right time” never arrives.
Here’s the life lesson the parade square whispered to me:
If you spend your whole life waiting for permission, for certainty, for someone more senior to say “Now,” you may be standing in formation forever.
The army trained me to report early.
Life taught me something better.
Stop waiting for 8am.
Move at 6.45am.
Even if nobody called your name.
Especially if nobody called your name.
