On a glorious sunny Sydney morning earlier this year, I was excited to join a very long queue. I was lucky enough to be spending two days in a workshop with author Elizabeth Gilbert (and about a thousand of my closest friends). Since reading Eat Pray Love 18 years ago, and 17, and 16, and I think nine years ago, Liz β as she is to me now β has inspired me, moved me, taught, guided, challenged and comforted me. I had no idea what the weekend would hold, but I was open-heartedly ready for anything.
I became a bit judgy of long queues, especially if they were for pastries. I mean, can a croissant be that good? Credit: Getty
I had flown from Melbourne to be there, so the standing in line was a tiny part of my journey to be in that room (a journey of probably about 20 years). And in a strange way, this waiting in line, this standing still in time and space, present with the sunshine and the city and the women around me, felt almost sacred. Like we were creating a threshold. The inhale before the plunge.
As I stood in this queue, I happily embraced the peace of just being, waiting, nowhere to be, nothing to do. And instead of hating the wait, I looked up and down the line at my fellow participants and recognised myself in pretty much all of them. Even though I didnβt know a soul.
Yes, almost all of us were women. But it wasnβt just our gender. We were, to be blunt, a type.
Could you say that those of us who are seekers of personal growth are generally creative? If weβre curious and introspective and deep thinkers, are we often, ahem, quirky? And does that translate into big earrings? Hair that has been chopped into, whether short or long, and might also be an interesting colour or defiantly grey? Sensible shoes with bright pants or a jumpsuit? Women who stoically manage a weariness from carrying the load of big lives full of caring and careers and always striving. But who passionately dive into life and love and bold fashion choices anyway?
Yep, that was our queue. And I felt completely at home with these strangers. Which makes sense because there is no greater proof that youβve found your tribe than lining up in an orderly fashion to reach a common goal.
Thereβs camaraderie in a queue. I have had some of the most profound conversations of my life standing in line.
JO STANLEY
As I waited, I thought of my favourite queues over the years (not a thought Iβve had before). At the footy, at the Pink concert, the 90-minute crayfish queue on Christmas Eve β those are my people. Collingwood-faithful, middle-aged women with attitude; people who have an uncompromising commitment to serving seafood on Christmas day.
Thereβs camaraderie in a queue. I have had some of the most profound conversations of my life standing in line. I once mentored a stranger out of a toxic job and found her a new share household in the time it took us to reach the front of the portaloo queue.
