Anticipation

“It’s just a jump to the left…”

Recently, I found myself rewatching The Rocky Horror Picture Show and, once again, smiling when Dr. Frank-N-Furter dramatically savors the word:

“Antici… pation.”

It is a word that has been rattling around in my head ever since.

We spend a lot of our lives looking toward what comes next. Sometimes we call that anticipation. Sometimes we call it anxiety. At first glance they can seem similar. Both are concerned with the future. Both involve uncertainty. Both require us to live with things that have not happened yet.

But I have been thinking that they are actually very different states of being.

Anxiety fears the future. It imagines everything that could go wrong and tries desperately to prepare for outcomes that may never arrive.

Anticipation is something else entirely.

Anticipation acknowledges the future without demanding it. It doesn’t require certainty. It doesn’t insist on guarantees. It simply recognizes that something is unfolding and chooses to meet it with curiosity, hope, and presence.

Lately, I have found myself living in a season of anticipation.

Life is wonderfully full right now.

In many areas of my life, I have worked hard toward specific goals. Some have arrived exactly as planned. Others have not. A few are still quietly taking shape behind the scenes.

One of the more challenging areas has been my health.

Many people know that I have been experiencing vocal issues. Sometimes it is just hoarseness. Other times I can lose my voice entirely. For an actor, teacher, trainer, and guide, that can feel frightening. Our voices are not just communication tools. They are instruments through which we share our work, our passion, and our connection with others.

After a great deal of research, testing, and reflection, I have developed a plan to address the underlying causes. Progress is happening, but not as quickly as I had hoped.

In another season of my life, I might have responded to that uncertainty with frustration.

Today, I find myself responding with anticipation.

I know I am moving in the right direction. I know healing rarely follows the timeline we would prefer. The outcome is not guaranteed, but I trust the process enough to keep showing up.

I see the same pattern in my work as a personal trainer.

For months I have steadily built my client base, and I have reached a point where I honestly do not have much room left in my schedule. Yet every week new clients continue to reach out. So I keep adjusting, planning, and finding creative ways to serve the people who want help.

The future is not fully written, but there are signs pointing toward what may come next.

And then there is yoga.

Yoga has always been the practice that helps me stay rooted in the present while remaining open to the future.

I continue to take classes whenever I can. I teach daily. I practice daily. Yoga reminds me to pay attention without attachment, to stay aware without becoming judgmental, and to witness what is unfolding rather than constantly trying to control it.

Perhaps that is why anticipation feels so familiar right now.

I had not planned to host another yoga retreat.

In fact, I thought I might take a break from organizing them for a while.

But people kept asking.

One conversation became several. Several became many. Before long, I found myself scheduling another retreat in Costa Rica.

Within three days, it was already more than halfway full.

Now dozens of people are making plans, arranging schedules, booking flights, and looking forward to a week of practice, rest, adventure, and connection.

They are anticipating an experience that has not happened yet.

And so am I.

What’s the difference?

The more I think about it, the more I wonder if the difference between anticipation and anxiety is not found in planning at all.

Both involve planning.

Both involve waiting.

Both involve uncertainty.

The real difference may be the story we tell ourselves while we wait.

Are we preparing for the future while fearing it?

Or are we preparing for the future while trusting it?

One contracts us.

The other expands us.

One keeps asking, “What if everything goes wrong?”

The other quietly wonders, “What amazing thing might be on its way?”

I still make plans. I still set goals. I still work hard toward outcomes that matter.

But I am learning to enjoy the waiting.

To enjoy the becoming.

To find gratitude for the possibilities that are already beginning to reveal themselves.

Perhaps anticipation is not really about knowing what will happen.

Perhaps it is about trusting that whatever comes next, we will meet it with openness, presence, and joy.

So I’ll leave you with a question:

What are you anticipating?

Not what are you afraid of.

Not what are you worried about.

What are you genuinely looking forward to?

And how might your life change if you allowed yourself to enjoy the waiting as much as the arrival?

After all, sometimes the most beautiful part of the journey is the anticipation.