You can't just wait anymore without filling it

This small loss is worth reclaiming. Waiting was once a small rest you have abolished — the line, the pause, the wait were moments to stand, breathe, and let the mind settle, and in filling every one with the screen you paved over the little clearings where the day used to breathe; the inability to wait is not efficiency but a loss. So let the wait be a wait — when you find yourself waiting, let it simply be one, without reaching, looking around or letting the mind rest on nothing, staying through the discomfort of a doing-nothing you have forgotten how to do, until these pauses become small oases of rest and presence. And in the unfilled pause, the mind and the world return — the wandering that finds things, the noticing of a face or the light or a passing thought, a whole layer of experience the filling had closed. The unfilled wait is not empty time to endure but open time to inhabit. Where do you most reflexively fill the waiting?