When we look only at the physical level, we have energy, and our energy has to go somewhere. It's interesting what happens when we don't give the energy a physical direction. When we don't mobilize the root. Because it's a physically and biologically incomplete mobilization of the root center.

A few insights from my university studies.

Our nervous system likes three clear states:

• Safe and relaxed (parasympathetic state)
• Action, struggle, movement (sympathetic state)
• Extinguishing, collapse (dorsal retreat)

But “waiting without direction” is a strange combination: you're not relaxing, you're not taking action, you're not even fully withdrawing.

It's activated energy with no outlet. And it's neurologically and energetically exhausting.

Mobilization without completion

When we go to “get something done,” the system mobilizes. Mobilization means more adrenaline, more dopamine (anticipation), muscle tension, and alertness. But if there's no clear goal, concrete actions, or sense of progress, that mobilization at the root remains “in the air.” The body feels it as internal tension or electricity. Then we get strange symptoms at the root.

Waiting is unpredictability for the body.

Biologically speaking, the most stressful states aren't fight. They're states of uncertain readiness.

In nature, if a lion attacks us, we either run or fight. But if we hear a rustle in the grass and don't know whether it's a lion, the system remains tense. That's waiting without direction.

The body perceives it as “I don't know what's coming, but I have to be ready.” It's energetically expensive.

Our Balkan layer of the story

If we're accustomed to waiting tribally for someone else's state—parental or any other relationship—to adapt and be ready to respond, then “waiting” has already become a learned pattern of vigilance for us.

Then our system essentially equates waiting, readiness, and tension. We've all more or less grown up as functions, and later it becomes, “I'm not here for myself. I'm here on assignment.” That's a huge trigger for the root center.

He likes autonomy, territory, and direction.

The nervous system that has learned that safety comes from monitoring others' states, anticipating problems, and taking responsibility doesn't know what to do when it's at peace. So it starts inventing micro-problems, and if there's no external enemy, it invents internal ones.

Why calm down when we have a plan?

Because the plan brings mobilization to an end. If we give the body some routine and direction, the nervous system says, “Okay. Energy goes there.” And there's no strange electricity in the body or suppressed energy in the form of anxiety.

For all of us, this is the transition from a life of “waiting by assignment” to a life of “acting by choice.”.

Therefore, if we feel that our life is on hold, the system is essentially “floating.” The energy exists and is mobilized, the strength is there, the will is there, but there is no channel, no structure, and so it scatters in all directions, which can manifest as all sorts of symptoms, instead of us giving it a laser-like focus. Waiting without direction is energetically taxing, and our nervous system isn't designed for it. If we feel progress and vision, that energy gains context and becomes regulated.

Systems no longer want to passively be “somewhere”; they want to act. The root center corresponds to the energy of Mars, and it's no joke. It will always be in motion, but it needs clarity and context, and as we ground ourselves, it will grow ever stronger. It's the energy of survival and movement, and it constantly generates the potential for motion, protection, and construction: no one is without energy at that level of our “engine.” But we have to give it direction. Mobilization must have an endpoint; otherwise the energy electrically “floats” and rumbles in strange ways.

How do you end a directionless wait?

1. Concrete action. We set the body in motion toward a direction, a goal, part of our daily routine. No matter how small or large the goal is. “Energy is expended,” the loop closes. We drain the adrenaline rush.

2. Direction: A clear task. The energy principle of the root chakra is clarity. If we know we need to do something (e.g., work on our body, finish a task, or speak up), we float. In that sense, routine is the signal that gives meaning to that energy. It's the “why” we do it. Dopamine doesn't rise because of a reward but because of a clear goal.

3. Conclusion and closing the loop. Rest, it's done, it's safe. Parasympathetic.

Therefore, if we wait to “fix” our partner or control someone, or to have perfect conditions, we'll slip into anxiety—not too little or too much energy, but unfinished energy.

Root energy is not a philosopher. It is a motor. It's not “I have to” but “I choose to act without proof; I can because I'm alive.”. It doesn't wait to see if something is pleasant, perfect, inspiring, or spiritual. It only asks whether there is direction and action. Pleasure comes later, sacral energy. Therefore, people who wait for motivation are essentially waiting and need to get moving.

True enjoyment comes from the feeling of progress, not from constant comfort. We need to grow.