The Godot Moment

I find myself knee deep in marathon training, though “marathon training” itself doesn’t feel like the correct phrasing. I’m embarking on my first marathon journey, ever. My days have become rather structured around my runs, with early mornings, blisters, and the appetite of a small elephant. This past week, I did my longest run to date, and while I was on it, there came a point where every stretch of road began to look identical. Time seemed to slow down, and every mile felt simultaneously meaningful and meaningless. My feet were screaming, and it was at this point that I began to question why I decided to embark on this misogi in the first place. 

When I was in high school, my English teacher gave us an assignment to watch a play and create a miniature analysis of it. I happened to attend a performing arts high school, where plays were happening everywhere, all the time. And thus I was introduced to Samuel Beckett’s play Waiting for Godot. It was after this run that I thought about Vladimir and Estragon. I had experienced a mere glimpse of what they did. I was sitting on my couch, happily recovering with a cup of tea, My never-ending road ended. Whereas with Vladimir and Estragon, Godot never came. Their waiting never ended. When I first encountered the play I was incredibly frustrated with the two of them. They had every chance to stop waiting and move on, and yet they didn’t. They were paralyzed. 

Now though, I realize that something deeper was anchoring them in place. Their waiting appears to be driven by hope. Godot will come, and when he arrives, things will finally make sense. Their waiting will come to an end and their lives will have a new direction. And yet as they continue waiting, this becomes their identity. They become those who wait for Godot. Leaving then would not simply mean walking somewhere else. It would mean confronting uncertainty, responsibility, and the unsettling possibility that meaning is not something delivered from outside ourselves, but something we must actively create. And so they remain still

As my marathon date slowly but steadily approaches, the more I begin to realize how well we are conditioned to wait. We orient ourselves so often, around the next threshold, the next arrival point, the next version of ourselves. We wait for a good time to ask a question, to leave the party, because we don’t know how to move otherwise. Rarely are we ever taught how to navigate the roads of uncertainty. Maybe we are all, in some way, waiting for our own “Godot” moments like I wait for race day.  But life does not pause while we wait for clarity. At some point, we have to move before certainty arrives.