What is active waiting?

Or, how a foulmouthed tattoo artist set my theme for 2023

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A few years ago, my partner went to get his (to date) only tattoo. It’s a big one, a piece of text in blackwork typeface, set in a bold rectangle that takes up his entire upper back. The artist was a funny, foulmouthed guy whose frank manner set my partner at ease. He also did great work.

Getting a tattoo puts your skin under a lot of strain. It’s basically sitting there and letting somebody stab you, a lot, then put a foreign substance in the wounds. Then leave it there. It can take a long time, up to six months, for the affected skin to truly settle into its new situation. In the weeks afterward, there can be swelling, scabbing, itching, and other discomforts. And of course during and directly after, your nervous system can have the kind of activated response you might expect from being slowly minorly injured for many hours. In short, a large tattoo is an intense experience.

A little while after getting it done, my partner returned to the artist because he saw some parts of the ink getting faded. The artist was jovial as ever as he looked his work over.

“So how’s it going, what have you been up to?”

“Well, I’ve gotten back to running,” says my partner.

“Oh yeah? Cool, cool. How many times you run a week?”

“Like four or five times.”

“Oh word? How many miles you do?”

“Well, I’m training for a 10K, so I’m working up to it.”

“Wow, cool, cool, that’s amazing. Hey, so how about you cut the shit and let that tattoo heal?”

Besides reliably cracking me up, this story has been coming up a lot lately as I’m contemplating the idea of slowness and integration. I was reflecting with a client recently that sometimes, it’s a matter of being able to tell when a process is in motion, even if you can’t see the movement, versus the process being stuck. There comes a time in any process of change where all you can do is be in the midst of the feeling, or allow time to pass and do its work, or rest so the cure can take effect.

I called this period “active waiting” in that moment, but you could call it “recovery,” or “integration,” or even “metamorphosis,” after the idea that if you cut a chrysalis open too early, all you get is an ex-caterpillar that’s dissolved into undifferentiated goo. This can be the hardest part for many of us to do in this life where we are constantly driven to do, do, do. But it is as vitally necessary to the process as all the activity that came before it.

The important thing is to acknowledge that what you are doing is not nothing. You’re not being lazy by taking the time and space you need to literally build new flesh, or new neural pathways, or a new life.

It’s winter in the northeast, and snow has come at last. My partner and I have been contemplating the idea of hibernation, and embracing it in spite of the fact that apes don’t do that. What we do do, though, is snuggle up, get warm, make soup, and try to get through the long dark. We try to stop running around quite so much. We conserve energy.

We’re also still doing the long slow work of attachment repair — essentially, becoming the secure attachment figures for one another that we never had growing up. It’s hard, it’s tender, it’s sweet. It’s a lot of work. And then it’s a lot of integration and giving our nervous systems a chance to calm down and feel safe.

I went to a party a couple weekends ago that I’ve been going to for many years, and I reflected on the way I, and people I know, have long gone to various sorts of intense, weekend-long events and done a whole bunch of intense, wacky things, all in a row, with very little sleep. Sci-fi conventions, larps, kink parties, spiritual trainings, theatrical productions. After many years, I feel how much I now need to slow down and focus on the experience I’m having, instead of racing on to the next one.

“I blame capitalism,” an old friend half-joked to me about it. Everyone’s caught up in the idea that More means Better, and of Getting Your Money’s Worth. If you paid to be there for the whole time, you’d better Do All The Things, right? Otherwise, you might be missing out!

“I’m playing four one-shot larps on Saturday, and I have full period costuming for two of them. The third is supposed to be emotionally devastating!!”

What if you played one really good game, then had dinner with your fellow players and talked about it late into the night?

“I just did a really intense kink scene with my partner and I’m flying on endorphins! I’m gonna go watch them do something with someone else now before my next scene!”

What if instead you sat with your partner and integrated the experience you just had together?

“I finished an enormous work project, took up climbing again, am in rehearsals for a show, and sang a concert last weekend. Also, I’m adopting a cat and my work just laid off a bunch of people! But sure, I’d love to go hiking tomorrow.”

How about you cut the shit and let that tattoo heal?

The expression keeps coming up over and over this month, as intense experiences, schedules, and obligations pile up and as my partner and I try desperately to forgive ourselves for not being superhuman, and also not 20 anymore. It may sound harsh to you, and so I invite you to phrase it in whatever way works for you. I also won’t be telling any of my clients to “cut the shit” anytime soon. But saying it to myself at this moment makes me laugh and feels like care.

What are you doing, in these seemingly relentless times, to rest, process, and integrate your experiences?