Waiting

In Samuel Beckett's, who incidentally is one of my favourite playwrights, Waiting for Godot, Estragon and Vladimir await for the arrival of a person named Godot. And while waiting, they fill they time by speaking an "infinite deal of nothing." There are repetitions, reversals, reiterations, replications, reduplications. But Godot never arrives ... and so they keep waiting filling the time with words that don't quite mean anything.

Much has been said, and studied, of one of Twentieth Century's most acclaimed and critiqued play but they all agree Waiting for Godot is an apt allegory for the post-modern condition.

We spend our lives waiting, waiting for some achievement that would mark our success and identity. We wait for someone who, we believe, would complete us; we wait for a sign or a gesture of concern or affection from those we (secretly) admire and adore. We wait for an act of acknowledgement of love from those we love. We wait incessantly for that one moment of fame. We wait to unbind ourselves from bonds we unwittingly entangled ourselves in. We wait for the next stage in our life - for one to end and another to begin. We wait in the hopes to complete ourselves more fully materially believing that wealth would satisfy our insatiable hunger; we wait to complete ourselves emotionally with a family of our own in the hopes that others would fill the void so innate in human nature. We wait to meet those whom our hearts yearn to connect with again. We wait for the passing of the week to greet the weekend. We wait to see the passing of a day and the beginning of another. We wait to make our mark upon this world; we wait to fulfill our destiny. We wait for time to pass; we wait to grow up. We wait for the passing of generations. We wait for the coming of life ... but perhaps, at the end, we're waiting for the passing of life.

And while we wait, we fill the time with words and meaning.

Are we merely waiting for death? And for those who believe, waiting for the moment of eternity with God? But isn't eternity a perpetual wait? What are we waiting for there and then as well?

What are we really waiting for? Why are we waiting? What happens when we stop waiting?