I am not a patient person at the best of times, although I have been known to wait, on occasion, with grace and graciousness (despite, or in spite of, any internal seething that may or may not take place). Things I hate waiting for, among other things, include:
- traffic jams when I can’t see the reason for the holdup
- my children to hop to it and do whatever it is I’ve asked them to do
- people to arrive at a designated time
- my husband to come home whenever he’s out
- bedtime
- certain writers to update their journals (hint, hint)
- a girl like you (O Foreigner! You had me at Cold As Ice)
- dial-up connections
- anticipated things to happen
My poor husband has been dealing with this now for over 10 years, and frankly, it’s a wonder he hasn’t killed me and stuffed my body in a drainage ditch somewhere. My poor family has been dealing with it for over 40 years and my siblings are also impatient so we spark off each other and make my poor mother, front-runner for Most Patient Person on the Face of the Earth Who Doesn’t Deserve These Hellbound Children, suffer. My poor children are saving it all up for their therapists. I can’t count the number of times Martin has exasperatedly said, “I AM ALREADY!” when I repeat, only moments later, a directive that I didn’t hear a response for the first time. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve backpedaled and said, “Sorry! Sorry, okay, okay” when it’s my own fault for being impatient.
My mom thinks my daughter, who has Speed (the white hyperactivity-inducing kind, not just the forward-motion kind) coursing through her veins, was put on this Earth to teach me patience. I think she was put on this Earth to TORTURE ME TO DEATH with repetitive noises and stubbornness to out-stubborn a stubborn thing. Whenever my family goes walking somewhere, it’s Karin and I way out in front, Martin and Anders moseying along behind. Somehow it works.
I don’t want to wait. I want things to happen NOW, when I want them to happen. I’m good at counseling patience for my children when necessary, but it’s a hypocritical stance and they know it. How can I teach them the value of patience when I can so rarely see it myself? Patience, schmatience, says one vulture to another, I’m going out and KILL SOMETHING.
How do you keep your cool in the face of your own impatience? I think that part of the reason I’m so good at multi-tasking is because it allows me to jump from one thing to another when the first thing is taking too long, and back again, etc. I also think that my impatience is the reason why I tend to only write short pieces, poetry and essays for example, instead of novels. I think that being impatient has helped my decision-making skills because being driven crazy by waffling on the part of others tends to make me force decisions and consensus. I suppose that can be both good and bad.
What do you think?
C’mon, hurry up, I’m waiting!