
Cheers to 2025
Every New Year holds promise, as though it is any different from the turn of
On the subject of waiting, I have thought about writing something for quite some time, yet I never quite got around to expressing it the way I truly wanted. Now, in 2026, the opportunity has finally presented itself. Perhaps I should have written this article two
years ago, but here we are. It has become incredibly apt to write about it now because I have been receiving a lot of engagement from people — especially young people and mentees — over the last couple of years. They often seem confused and overwhelmed about what to do when they find themselves in a season of waiting.
What Waiting Actually Means
Waiting might sound like a grand, abstract concept, but it is actually quite simple: it is a period when you have to sit out or hold on while carrying a deep expectation. It is not passivity. It is not failure. It is the in-between space — the gap between where you are and where you are going.
Consider, for instance, the experience of waiting to have a child. You are trying for a child, executing plans, and putting all your effort into building a family, but nothing is happening yet. You are in a period of waiting. You might be trying different methods and consulting experts, but fundamentally, you are waiting.
Or perhaps you are waiting for a job. You have applied, held onto very good hopes, and completed multiple interviews. You have engaged with recruiters at different levels and stages of the process. In fact, some of the feedback looked incredibly optimistic.
But then, suddenly, everything goes quiet. The silence sets in, and you have got to wait. You are waiting to hear back. You send follow-up emails that go unreturned. You ask questions. You begin to question your own sanity and your own quality. You start to doubt your qualifications and your worth. That, too, is a profound period of waiting.
The Waiting That Breaks You Down
Then there is the wait for a promotion. You have been working tirelessly. It was clear from the outset that if you completed specific tasks, achieved targeted results, and excelled in your role, you would eventually qualify for and be rewarded with a deserved promotion.
You buried yourself in your work, doggedly dedicating your life, your energy, and your strength to the organisation. You probably even paused friendships or sacrificed time with your family because you felt that this promotion was the vital motivation required to get you to the next stage of life.
And then, it gets to the point where you are supposed to receive that promotion, and nothing is heard. It is silent again. There may have been a hint here and there in the back rooms or boardrooms that you are being considered, but nothing materialises.
What happens to you then? That is how the waiting starts. In fact, in some cases, you may even realise that the waiting began way before you reached the actual milestone. There are countless other waiting mechanisms in life. You are waiting to get a loan. You are waiting for help. You are waiting for a breakthrough. Waiting is, undeniably, an intrinsic part of our lives. One way or another, we all have to wait for something.
Sometimes the wait is short, sometimes it is barely noticeable, and sometimes it is dreadfully, embarrassingly long — so long that you even need to start explaining to people why you are still waiting.
When Waiting Becomes Toxic
When the wait becomes prolonged, it can become a problem. It can become toxic because human mental resilience is severely tested.
Your character is put on trial. Most times, when people are forced to wait, their true character and their real self begin to emerge. They might become toxic, annoying, irritable, or unresponsive. They can transform into an entirely different entity.
If it is in a marriage where two people are waiting for a child, it could test their resolve and the love they share. It could test the emotional foundation they have built together, leading to really tough conversations that neither party anticipated having. The truth is, in life, waiting is unavoidable.
As much as we do not like to admit it or think about it as often as we should, waiting is a part of the human experience.
The critical question then becomes: How do we navigate the waiting period? That is exactly why I was so excited to share this particular write-up.
I believe it is a conversation that must happen between us as humans. We need to understand that waiting itself is not a condemnation to oblivion. It does not mean that you are not going to be successful, that you are not going to make sense of life, or that you have failed. It is absolutely not a failure.
The Hidden Purpose of the Pause
Instead, waiting is actually a designated period when people are supposed to empower themselves, improve themselves, and hone their skills.
If we look at this from a biblical and spiritual perspective, when you are waiting, God intends to take you from one point to another.
You are waiting during a period when God is actively improving your life, honing your skills, and refining your character.
There is no point in waiting for a certain expectation — especially a stage that is presumed to be higher than where you currently are — only to arrive unprepared to sustain it. If you reach that elevated point after waiting but have not improved yourself, you might not be able to maintain that progress.
You may not be able to operate as highly as you should, and the promotion or blessing becomes counterproductive. At that time, you might actually regress rather than progress.
So, a period of waiting, as daunting, dark, long, and lonely as it may sound, is actually the exact time when you are supposed to hone your skills. It is a time when you are supposed to go out and learn something new and improve yourself, because those very skills may be exactly what is required for you to operate at the level you are waiting for.

What You Should Be Doing While You Wait
Basically, you are supposed to upgrade your skill set, your mind, and your body. Improve your mental tenacity. Upgrade your knowledge and your wisdom. Engage in all the things that elevate you from the stage you are currently in. Meanwhile, you are still waiting.
By the time you get to the point where God sees that you are able to operate at the level He wants you to — because of the tools you have gathered, and the knowledge and wisdom you have acquired — He brings those blessings down to you.
In fact, your waiting time can actually be shortened if God gets the sense that you are ready. The whole idea is that He has plans for every human being, and He has to make sure that you are ready for them. He prepares you. He could prepare you through adversity, He could prepare you through success, and He could prepare you through waiting.
One way or another, His intention as the Creator will always be done, and He has to find the right creations who are ready to execute those plans.
Readiness does not necessarily mean being 100% ready. You could be 80% ready, but the point is that you are ready enough to execute His plans to the letter.
Applying This to Real Life
Therefore, a waiting period is fundamentally the time for you to improve your skills, become a better version of yourself, and actively learn. For all the scenarios I painted earlier regarding waiting, what you are required to do is to improve in areas related to
those specific goals.
For instance, if you are waiting for a promotion and it has not come — even though you have done everything, made improvements, studied extra courses, and put in the work — and the promotion still has not arrived, it simply means you are not ready yet.
Perhaps those were not the right courses you were supposed to study. Perhaps there is an extra piece of learning that will finally tip the scale. Perhaps there is a specific experience you need to go through that will tie everything together. That is why waiting is so important.
Think about it this way: a seed does not sprout the moment it is planted. It is buried in darkness, surrounded by soil, seemingly doing nothing.
But beneath the surface, something extraordinary is happening. The seed is drawing moisture, breaking its shell, and pushing roots downward before it ever pushes upward. The waiting is not wasted time. It is the most critical time of all. The same is true for you. The silence you are experiencing right now is not emptiness. It is preparation. The darkness you are sitting in is not abandonment.
It is the very environment in which your roots are growing deeper, stronger, and more capable of sustaining the height you are about to reach.
Every Season Adds Up
As a final note, I like to say this often: there is nothing happening in our lives that does not add up. Every single thing we experience in life adds up to a certain point, and it makes profound meaning somewhere in the future — including the waiting time.
The job you did not get taught you something. The promotion that was delayed built something in you. The child you are still believing for is shaping you into the parent you need to be. The loan that was denied pushed you toward a more creative solution. Nothing is wasted. Not a single moment of your waiting is without purpose.
So the next time you find yourself in a season of waiting, resist the urge to panic, to compare yourself to others, or to conclude that life has forgotten you. Instead, ask yourself: What is this season asking me to learn? What skill am I being called to develop? What part of me is being refined right now?
The answers to those questions are your assignment. And when you complete that assignment — when you have grown to the point where you can carry what is coming — the wait will end. Not a moment too soon, and not a moment too late.
I hope this has helped you find purpose in your pause. I am glad I could finally take this off my wish list and share it with you.

Every New Year holds promise, as though it is any different from the turn of

Adaeze had been awake since 4 a.m.
Not because she was anxious — though she was — but because this trip felt different. After eighteen months of follow-ups, phone calls, and PowerPoint presentations polished to a mirror shine, the deal was finally ready to close. An investor meeting in Abuja. A partnership that would change the trajectory of her small but gutsy consulting firm. She had triple-checked her flight, her documents, her outfit. She had prayed. She was ready.

When he told his father, Dare’s first response was a sigh. Then: “I told you to practice more. I told you months ago. You don’t listen. You never listen.”
There was no “I’m sorry, son.” No pause to let the boy simply feel the loss of the thing he wanted. Just a swift, seamless pivot to what Temi had done wrong — and, by extension, how Temi’s failure was evidence of Temi’s failure to take his father’s wisdom seriously.

I want to tell you something that took me embarrassingly long to learn. Not because the idea is complicated — it is not. But because it cuts against something deeply wired in us, something we are rarely honest enough to admit.

You are somewhere between forty and fifty-five. You looked in the mirror recently and had a thought you immediately dismissed. Maybe you googled something at 2am that you would never say out loud. Maybe you bought something expensive and impractical and told everyone it was an investment. Or maybe you just feel — quietly, persistently — like the life you built was supposed to feel better than this by now.

Anton Chekhov was a Russian physician and playwright — a man trained in the discipline of diagnosis before he became one of the most precise storytellers in the history of world literature. That combination of sensibilities matters, because the principle he articulated in the late nineteenth century was not merely a rule of dramatic craft. It was an observation about the nature of significance itself. About what it means for something to be present. About the relationship between introduction and consequence.

There is a prison that has no concrete walls, no iron bars, no guards posted at the gate. Nobody built it for you. Nobody sentenced you to it. And yet, for many people, it is the place they spend the better part of their lives — circling its perimeter, brushing their fingers against its invisible boundaries, and quietly retreating each time they feel the edge of something that might require more of them than they believe they can give.

Picture a hand holding sand. The tighter the grip, the faster the grains escape between the fingers. Ease the grip — open the palm, allow the hand to become a vessel rather than a vice — and the sand stays. This is one of the oldest paradoxes of leadership, and one of the least learned: that control, pursued too aggressively, produces the very loss of control it was designed to prevent.

There is a version of ambition that builds. And there is a version of ambition that consumes. From a distance — and especially from inside it — they look almost identical. Both are energetic. Both are forward-moving. Both speak the language of vision and possibility. The difference only becomes visible later, usually at the point of fracture, when what was built begins to come apart under the weight of what was promised.

There is a particular kind of organisational absurdity that most people who have ever worked in a company will recognise immediately. It is the policy that was clearly designed by someone who has never had to implement it. The restructuring that looked elegant on a slide deck and chaotic on the ground. The customer-facing process that was overhauled by a committee that has not spoken to a customer in years. The directive that arrives from above, fully formed and non-negotiable, that causes the people closest to the work to exchange a look — the kind of look that says, without words: they have no idea what we actually do here.

We have built an entire mythology around exhaustion. In boardrooms and business culture — perhaps nowhere more so than in the high-pressure, always-on professional culture many of us inhabit — busyness has become a currency. To be tired is to be serious. To be overwhelmed is to be important. To be burning out, quietly, is somehow proof that you are fully committed.

There is a particular kind of failure that never makes the headlines. It does not arrive with a scandal, a public collapse, or a dramatic resignation. It builds slowly, almost imperceptibly, in the space between what a leader sees and what they choose to say. It lives in the meetings that end without the real conversation ever starting. It grows in the silence after a poor decision goes unchallenged, not because nobody noticed, but because everyone agreed — unspokenly — that it was simply easier not to say anything.

The boardroom at Crescent Capital Partners on Victoria Island smelled of leather and ambition — the kind that had been earned, aged, and perhaps left out a little too long. Emeka Osei-Bello, Managing Director and Group CEO, sat at the head of a long mahogany table, his charcoal suit immaculate, his posture the kind that says, I built this. He had, in many ways, done exactly that.

When you stay loyal to a version of yourself that no longer exists—the one who was hurt, the one who failed, the one who was overlooked—you are still choosing. You are choosing to let one moment in time define the whole arc of your life. And that choice costs more than it keeps.
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2 thoughts on “The Purpose in the Pause: Finding Meaning While You Wait”
Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life. The waiting period is never an easy one. I pray we get speedy answers to those things we’ve been longing for.
I feel so refreshed, and with a different perspective. Thanks for the deeper revelation of the advantages of waiting. I’m glad I didn’t miss this.