Waits, Trains, and Vulnerable Things


I have an announcement to make: I am a waiter. I am one who waits. I chain myself to the nearest bench and I watch the lives of others pass me by. I am not an active participator in this thing called life. I, Courtney Walters, am the girl who waited. Too long.

You see, I’m waiting for adventure, for love, for that sweep-you-off-your-feet moment. I’m going to admit I’m waiting in my faith. A God who has waited my whole life to know me and I still get butterflies and sweaty palms when I’m basking in His amazing love. And all this waiting makes me head spin because I see all these people embracing life to its fullest. I’m sure some of you are sitting there, reading this, and thinking “Yep, that’s me Courtney. I’m an adverntuer that is brimming with love.” I can see you. With that glint in your eyes that I am so envious of and that smile that seems to glow with a life-loving gleam I haven’t seen much in my own life.

If that is you then Congratulations. Sincerely. You, darling, are an amzing soul. But the rest of us, the waiters, we have a lot of work to do. We have a lot of hours and ugly crying and curling up into balls on your carpet at 3 a.m. and knowing ourselves to the roots.There is no secret formula babycakes, no hidden path that you can take. It’s got to come from inside you and you have to be willing to be vulnerable.


I was vulnerable on the night of my first kiss. The awkward jitters and the mystic surrealism  that fills your head– it tells you that true love might exist. Forever could happen. I was vulnerable when I put tight pants on for the first time after a harsh 5 year battle with my self-image. A battle that never really leaves, so what I’m trying to say is I’ve struggled with that word for years; associated it with a type of weakness… and I was wrong baby. So very wrong. Vulnerability makes you into a roaring lion. And guess what?

You are never not vulnerable, Love.”

 and waiting doesn’t make you less of a person. It doesn’t change the fact that you are a growing, beautiful, vulnerable human. But, sweetcheeks, I yearn for what I could be. I miss the person I am aching to become. And I’ve realized that missing someone, even if that person is yourself, is like waiting for a train. You sit there at the station, bag in hand, watching everyone else’s life pass you by. You are still chained to that bench. You see the joys of children, the fear of first-time travelers, the depression of those who will never ride again. All spectrum’s of life are fully represented, but you are still on that bench. Waiting. Missing someone is that wait. It’s the “not quite full” feeling. Those anxious nerves that crawl from your toes to your head. Missing someone, missing yourself is all of that. And it ends when you board that train…. whether your ticket leads you to who you want to be or not, that is entirely up to you.

And dollface, that is a hard decision. To actively choose to not wait anymore when that is all you’ve ever known. That’s hard. That’s vulnerable. But that’s the train I’ve booked.

Your ticket is waiting for you at the station.


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