Hurry up and wait. It’s a figure of speech describing what it feels like to be rushed into moving quickly, usually to satisfy someone else or a tight schedule, only to be forced to stop. It’s hard to switch gears at that point. If the same person who rushed us is the one making us wait, it can cause resentment. In our culture, hurrying is good and often expected, but waiting is bad.
Sometimes it’s the other way around. Wait and hurry up. If you’re waiting for an organ transplant, time moves in slow motion. It’s probably faster than time moves in prison. I know for a fact it’s faster than time moves when you’re in the hospital. But it’s waiting. It’s not like waiting in line, when you can see it moving forward and you can tell when it’s almost your turn. This kind of waiting is like gazing up at the midnight sky at the millions of stars out there. There’s no telling just how distant it all is.
Suddenly a shooting star speeds through the dark sky. It’s much closer than the other pinpoints of light. It’s much brighter and it’s moving faster. Your heart quickens. Now that vast, barely-moving backdrop of distant stars and galaxies is more in perspective. None of them are important anymore. That bright streak of light in front of you is all that matters.