Marshmallow Grabber

I am a marshmallow grabber. Some of you are probably wondering, “What on earth is a marshmallow grabber?” Without going into too much detail, in 1972 there was a psychologist at Stanford University who did a study on delayed gratification.  He took kids into a room and gave them a marshmallow. He told them that they could either eat it, or wait. If they waited, they’d be given a second marshmallow and they could eat both of them. If they were a “marshmallow grabber” (m.g.) they’d only have the one. (Check out this video of a more recent marshmallow experiment: http://youtu.be/6EjJsPylEOY)

I’m an m.g.  I would totally end up eating that first marshmallow if it took too long to bring my second one.  Because of that, pregnancy was a nightmare. I had to wait 9 whole months to see if we were having boys or girls (can you tell that my husband is a marshmallow waiter—he was the one behind the whole “let’s wait to find out the gender” thing). Being pregnant with twins, I fully expected them to be at least a little early. Finally, at 38 weeks my doctor had to induce. Apparently the twins are marshmallow waiters too.

Recently, my m.g.-ness has been acting up again. As a freelance writer, waiting is the name of the game. For those of you who aren’t familiar with freelancing, here’s the process (or least the process I’ve experienced):

You spend hours (days) working on a piece. You send it off to an editor. Then, you wait. And wait. And wait. Most places say they’ll get back to you in 8-12 weeks. That’s 2-3 months. And that’s if they get back to you on time. So, the 8-12 weeks go by and you still wait. Then, when you finally do hear back, it may or may not be good news.

Can you see how a lack of self-control is a bad thing when it comes to freelancing? I find myself wishing that I’d just get bad news instead of waiting for the potentially good news.  I supposed that’s not totally true, because if I knew that in thirteen weeks I was going to find out I was being published, I’d probably be willing to wait. But not knowing, having no closure on all the things I’ve sent out…it’s darn near maddening.

So here I sit, at the computer, trying not to check my email for the thirtieth time today, waiting. And praying. I’m praying that I’ll get better at being a marshmallow waiter and that I’ll stop going crazy over things I just can’t control.