Sometimes the very thing we think is holding us back is making room for what comes next.
I’ve been thinking a lot about timing lately. Isn’t it funny how we spend so much of our lives trying to figure out when things are supposed to happen? When we’re supposed to find success, when life is supposed to get easier, when the things we’ve been praying for are finally supposed to show up at our doorstep.
And if you’re anything like me, you probably have a whole imaginary timeline tucked away somewhere in your head. One where everything works out beautifully, preferably with very few inconveniences and a nice little bow on top. But life has a funny way of reminding us that we’re not the ones holding the pen all the time.
At the beginning of this year, I lost three real estate clients. Three opportunities I had been excited about, three possibilities I thought were going somewhere, and just like that, they weren’t.
Now, I know losing clients might not sound like the end of the world, and in the grand scheme of things, it isn’t. But when you’re trying to build something for yourself, when you’re pouring your heart into your work and genuinely trying to create a life you’re proud of, those disappointments can feel a little heavier than you’d like to admit.
I started questioning everything. Was I doing enough? Why am I being rejected? Was I on the right path? Was I just not cut out for this? You know, all those lovely little thoughts our brains like to entertain when something doesn’t go according to plan. And just when I thought I was having a difficult season professionally, life reminded me how quickly our priorities can change.
Within one month, I lost my grandfather. My rock,
And suddenly, those three lost clients didn’t seem quite so important anymore.
My grandfather was one of the people who raised me after losing my parents. He wasn’t just someone I visited on holidays or called occasionally. He was part of the foundation of my life, part of the reason I became the person I am today. Losing him felt like losing another piece of the world I grew up knowing.
I don’t think there’s a perfect way to explain what it’s like when life keeps asking you to say goodbye. Especially when you’ve already experienced more goodbyes than you ever imagined you would.
There were moments when I genuinely wondered what I was supposed to be doing. How was I supposed to keep building a career, chasing dreams, answering emails, and showing up for everyday life when my heart was trying to process so much? And somewhere in all of that, things got quiet.
Not necessarily peaceful quiet. More like that strange kind of quiet where you look around and realize life isn’t moving the way you expected it to. I think that’s the part of waiting we don’t talk about enough.
We talk about patience as though it’s this beautiful, graceful thing. Like we’re all supposed to sit peacefully on our porches, sipping coffee, trusting the process while butterflies flutter around us. But sometimes waiting is frustrating. Sometimes it’s lonely. Sometimes you’re doing everything you know how to do, and absolutely nothing seems to be happening. When everyone else around you is having all their prayers answered.
And sometimes you find yourself looking up and asking God, Okay, what exactly are we doing here? I’ve certainly asked that question a time or two.
I’m someone who likes to understand things. I like finding meaning, connecting the dots, and figuring out why certain things happen. I can spend hours thinking about one conversation or one decision, trying to understand what it all means. But the older I get, the more I’m realizing that not everything comes with an explanation right away.
Sometimes you don’t get to understand the chapter while you’re still living in it. And maybe that’s where faith comes in. You have to have faith that your path will unfold. When you are finally prepared for it.
Because looking back now, something happened this year that still makes me smile. After losing those three clients at the beginning of the year, I eventually found myself handling three real estate transactions at the exact same time.
One listing and two buyers. Three different transactions, three different sets of responsibilities, three different opportunities to show up and do the very thing I had been questioning whether I was capable of doing.
And somehow, in the middle of everything life had thrown at me, I did it. All three closed. In less than 2 months. I remember sitting with that realization and thinking about how strange and beautiful life can be. Three opportunities had fallen apart earlier in the year, and here I was, months later, celebrating three successful closings.
Now, I’m not saying God took away three clients just to hand me three different ones. I don’t think life works quite that simply. But I do think there’s something worth noticing about the way things sometimes come full circle. Because the version of me who lost those clients wasn’t quite the same version of me who closed those transactions.
Somewhere between the disappointment, the grief, the uncertainty, and the days when I simply had to keep going, I had grown. I became more confident in my ability to handle difficult situations. I learned to trust my judgment a little more. I realized that I could navigate complicated conversations, solve problems, and carry responsibilities even when my personal life felt anything but simple.
And perhaps most importantly, I learned that I didn’t have to have everything figured out to keep moving forward.
That’s when I started thinking about what I like to call the art of delay.
What if some of the things we consider setbacks are actually giving us room to grow into what’s coming next? What if the waiting isn’t always about the thing we’re waiting for, but about the person we’re becoming while we wait?
I believe God has a way of working in the spaces we don’t understand. Not always in the ways we expect, and certainly not always on the timeline we’d prefer.
And I want to be careful when I say that, because I don’t believe every painful experience is something God intentionally places in our lives to teach us a lesson. I don’t believe losing people we love is some necessary step toward receiving a blessing.
I would give anything for more time with the people I’ve lost. No amount of professional success changes that. But I do believe that even in the middle of heartbreak, there will be things that can help us find our footing again.
That something beautiful can grow alongside something painful. That grief and gratitude can exist in the very same heart, sometimes within the very same hour.
And that maybe we’re allowed to celebrate the good things that happen without feeling like we’re leaving the people we’ve lost behind.
That’s been a big lesson for me this year.
For a long time, I think I measured progress by what I could see. The clients I had, the goals I reached, the money I made, the things I could cross off my never-ending to-do list. But some of the most important progress I’ve made this year happened in ways nobody else could see.
It happened in the mornings I got out of bed when I didn’t particularly feel like it. In the conversations I had when I wanted to shut down. In learning when to push forward and when to give myself permission to rest. It happened in realizing that I could be proud of myself and still be grieving. That I could be grateful for new beginnings while missing the people who should have been here to see them.
And maybe that’s what I find so beautiful about the art of delay.
We spend so much time looking ahead, wondering when our moment will finally arrive, that we forget we’re still becoming someone in the meantime.
We think nothing is happening because nothing is happening the way we imagined.
But life is still unfolding.
We’re still learning. Still loving. Still making mistakes. Still finding little pieces of ourselves in places we never thought to look. And sometimes, when we finally reach the thing we’ve been working toward, we realize the waiting changed the way we receive it.
I don’t think I would have appreciated those three closings quite the same way at the beginning of the year. Not because I wasn’t grateful then, but because I understand things differently now.
I understand how quickly life can change. How precious the ordinary days really are. How much strength it takes to continue showing up when nobody knows what you’re carrying.
And I understand that success feels a little different when you’ve learned that the most valuable things in life can’t be measured by a paycheck or a closing statement.
So if you’re reading this and you’re in one of those seasons where nothing seems to be moving, I hope you’ll give yourself a little grace.
Maybe you didn’t get the job. Maybe the relationship didn’t work out. Maybe the opportunity you were so excited about disappeared before it ever really began. Maybe you’re watching everyone around you move into new chapters while you feel like you’re still rereading the same page.
I know how discouraging that can feel.
But please don’t mistake a slower season for a meaningless one.
You don’t have to turn every disappointment into a lesson overnight. You don’t have to pretend you’re grateful for things that genuinely hurt. And you certainly don’t have to know exactly where you’re going to believe that your life still holds beautiful possibilities.
Sometimes all you can do is keep showing up.
Keep planting the seeds. Keep having faith. Keep doing the little things that don’t seem particularly extraordinary at the time.
And trust that just because you can’t see something growing doesn’t mean nothing is happening.
I still don’t know why certain things unfolded the way they did this year. There are questions I may never have answers to, and there are people I will spend the rest of my life wishing I had more time with.
But I also know that this year gave me moments I once only hoped for.
And when I think about those three clients I lost, followed by those three transactions I successfully closed, I can’t help but smile at the timing of it all.
Maybe that’s one of the little ways God reminds us that the story isn’t finished just because a chapter didn’t go the way we wanted.
Maybe the closed doors aren’t always the end of the road.
And maybe the waiting season isn’t an empty space between where we are and where we want to be.
Maybe it’s a part of the story worth living, too.
Because I’m beginning to believe that the art of delay isn’t really about learning how to wait for the life we want.
It’s about learning how to live, grow, and trust God while the life we never could have planned is unfolding right in front of us.
And sometimes, what comes next is even more beautiful because of who we’ve become along the way.
With love, faith, and probably another cup of coffee. ♡ the same problem every
xoxo, alli ❤
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