I
admire people who have patience. I also admire people who have
$28,000,000 in the bank. Unfortunately, I have neither.
Patience—or,
more accurately, the total lack thereof—is one of the most
consistently recurring themes in my life. I can readily acknowledge
the value of patience, but am totally incapable of practicing it. If
I want/expect something to happen, there is in my mind absolutely no
reason why I should have to wait for it. Waiting for something wastes
time, and time is without question my largest single obsession.
Being
a writer and having patience go together like peanut butter and
jelly. I hate peanut butter and jelly. I am at the moment awaiting
the release of my next book, which my publisher assures me will be
rolling off the press in a month or so (“or so” being the
operative words). But it could, in fact, be rolling off the press day
after tomorrow and that wouldn't keep me from pacing back and forth,
mumbling and muttering and being miserable because I don't have it in
my hand right this minute. I know I will have it sometime, but I want
it now.
I’ve wanted it now
since
the minute I sent it off to the publisher.
I
am totally unfazed by logic pointing out that my expectations aren't
realistic. Anyone who has followed my blogs for any length of
time—say two or three weeks—undoubtedly knows where I stand when
it comes to accepting reality. I do understand logic, it's just that
I can't apply it when it comes to something I want. I know it takes
time for a book to go through the process, but that's totally
irrelevant to the fact that I want what I want when I want it. (We
will not go into the question of my success rate on that score.)
It
sometimes puzzles me how I can possibly justify my lack of patience
in light of the very real pride I take in the stoicism I developed
during and after my bout with cancer. And I do realize that in the
scheme of things patience and impatience are little more than a
niggle. But knowing that and doing something about it are
unfortunately two different things. Patience is the desire to bridge
the gap between now and a point of time in the future but, like
worry—to which we all seem to devote far too much time—the fact
is that the things we wait for or worry about do eventually resolve
themselves regardless of what we do or do not do. Like kidney stones,
once the cause of the impatience has passed, the pain and anxiety are
instantly over and quickly forgotten, thus freeing us up for the next
set of niggles.
The
lack of patience has an untold number of unpleasant side effects. For
one thing, it leads to making hasty decisions which are far too
frequently regretted as soon as they are made. Words once spoken
cannot be unspoken; the best one can do is to partially repair or
patch over the damage. An act resulting from impatience may possibly
be rectified, but it takes infinitely more time and effort than having
taken the time to do it right the first time.
It's
also been my personal experience that the impatience that caused me
to do something wrong the first time will cause me to do it wrong a
second time, and a third, or more, and compound the negative effects.
Because
my impatience has led to so much frustration throughout my life, I
have developed a mantra: “If at first you don't succeed, give up.”
While this is hardly an attitude conducive to accolades for
perseverance or the raising of monuments honoring achievements, I
find it avoids an amazing amount of frustration. And, rightly or
wrongly, it is a mantra I can live with.
Dorien's
blogs are posted by 10 a.m. Central time every Monday, Wednesday, and
Friday. Please take a moment to check out his website
(http://www.doriengrey.com)
and, if you enjoy these blogs, you might want to check out Short
Circuits: a Life in Blogs (http://bit.ly/m8CSO1 ).
2 comments:
I admire that you can still not be patient about things. I used to embrace that. Now? It's a slightly different story. With dad, I've had to learn patience that is reserved for people who have children. And it sucks. I think I had much more fun being impatient.
You know what this means, don't you? I'm going to have to live vicariously through you now for that part of my life.
You raise an interesting philosophical question, Kage. I viewed my cancer with stoicism. You view your dealing with your dad as patience, and you're right. But I think there is a large degree of stoicism mixed in. Stoicism is the acceptance of things which cannot be changed. Patience is simply being willing to wait. You display both.
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