Standing in queues can be annoying. This is how I’ve learned to embrace it

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 – as she is to me now – 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 didn’t know a soul.

Yes, almost all of us were women. But it wasn’t 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 we’re 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 you’ve found your tribe than lining up in an orderly fashion to reach a common goal.

There’s camaraderie in a queue. I have had some of the most profound conversations of my life standing in line.

As I waited, I thought of my favourite queues over the years (not a thought I’ve had before). At the footy, at the Pink concert, the 90-minute crayfish queue on Christmas Eve – those are my people. Collingwood-faithful, middle-aged women with attitude; people who have an uncompromising commitment to serving seafood on Christmas day.

There’s 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.

And how great is the collective anticipation for what’s at the end of the line, even though it’s impossible to really know if it will be worth the wait? Case in point, the 45 minutes I spent in a nightclub queue in Berlin to eventually meet a bouncer who did not recognise me as his people.

Still, it’s a story I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t joined that queue, like so many stories in my life. In the ’90s, I camped overnight for the new U2 album. In the ’80s, we ran through Myer when they opened their doors to be the first in line for John Farnham tickets – infinitely preferable to the three days I spent in a virtual queue to eventually miss out on Taylor Swift tickets.

When I turned 50, for some reason I declared I would never stand in a queue again. Life’s too short, and I’ve got better things to do! If I’m honest, I became a bit judgy of long queues, especially if they were for pastries. I mean, can a croissant be that good?

I feel bad about that now. What’s so shameful about wanting something enough to dedicate time to it? To focus on a goal, choose patience, find contentment with methodical progress?

I think what I was really announcing was that, at 50, I’d forgotten the things that make me happy.

I see now that standing in a queue is about knowing what it is you want. Which, coincidentally, was the essence of much of what we did with Liz over those two days – asking ourselves what makes us happy and giving ourselves permission to do it. It was truly transformative.

So, beware world. One thousand women emerged on that Sunday night, empowered with our heart’s desires. And we’re not afraid to queue for it.

Get the best of Sunday Life magazine delivered to your inbox every Sunday morning. Sign up here for our free newsletter.