There is nothing like the excitement of waiting for a package to arrive in the mail. Internet tracking allows me to see exactly when it is going to arrive, and it is a day which brings eager anticipation.
The items in the package are not that exciting, simply utilitarian items. I know what they are, after all, I ordered them. But the excitement is not about the items themselves, it is about the experience.
The experience of hearing the knock on the door, or arriving home and seeing the brown cardboard box leaned up against the door, is an exciting one. Although knowing what is on the inside, seeing the box — sealed, opaque — there are endless possibilities for what it could contain. There is something, at least somewhat unknown, that will likely contain something good, something exciting, something new and fresh. Something with potential, with possibilities, something that has yet to wear out or break — something which can offer a new future.
As I was waiting for my package, however, the mail was late, and I had to catch my bus. I walked down the stairs to the sidewalk, and over to the bus stop. After all, what I am truly waiting for — hoping for, longing for — won’t arrive in the mail.