A couple days ago, my work computer was having issues. I tried rebooting a handful of times but the problem persisted. My co-worker Omar came over to offer some troubleshooting tips.
At some point, I began repeatedly slamming the buttons on the keyboard to try to make the fix go faster. Standing at my door and observing from a distance, Omar commented, “Have some patience, Cam, geez.”
He was joking. But something about his comment made an impression on me. I respect him a great deal because he is someone that I consider to be very patient and calm in demeanor. Actually, I have always had a special admiration for adults that are “calm, cool, collected” by nature or development. It got me thinking about my patience. Am I an impatient guy?
My girlfriend would certainly say yes whenever she’s in my passenger seat. It manifests in my driving habits. I honk at cars that don’t move after one second at a green light (although I’m getting better about giving them a three second grace period before I unleash the wrath of my horn). If there’s a longer route to my destination with less traffic, I’ll usually opt for the road with less cars. And if there’s a car taking up the first spot in the right lane when there are empty lanes to the left and I’m behind them needing to turn right at the red light, you can bet I have no patience for that. I think it boils down to consideration.
I picked up this trait at my first restaurant hosting job. We would often have dozens of parties waiting for hours to get a table at peak business times. Navigating both my body and others through the packed walkways to get our guests to their tables was a skill. I had to be cognizant of every person in our way, and be able to politely but urgently ask them to move aside. On my way back to the host stand, I picked up a habit of looking out for any little issue that I could quickly resolve, rather it be picking up dirty napkins on the floor, or cleaning up a spilt drink, etc. The list goes on of small acts of consideration that I began to build into my character. I didn’t expect the side-effect.
Frustration now happens whenever I see others be inconsiderate. That anger manifests itself on the road. I get easily irked by the slightest driving error of others around me, especially when they should use their turn signal. I have no patience for it because it is inconsiderate.
For as long as I can remember, I have hated waiting lines. I have some ideas about where this comes from. I relied on public transit to get to and from elementary school daily, and it was common to wait up to 30 or 45 minutes just for a bus to drive us 3 miles back home. And standing for that long in Texas heat made an impression on a young child like me. It created an attitude of “I never want to live like this” when I’m grown up.
Waiting in the lunch line was similar. It would wrap around the walls of the cafeteria, some people spending half their lunch period just to wait for food, often to find out that the best options like pizza or mac n cheese were all gone when it was their turn. Come to think of it, the school lunch line might be a major culprit of my poorly developed patience. As a highly social kid and teen that struggled to make lasting connections with my classmates, I wanted every second I could get at the lunch table. Anybody that ever stood in those lines knows that there is a certain “lunchline culture” that happens when hungry kids are slowly inching toward the kitchen. Depending on my mood for the day, I either seeked it or avoided it. My favorite lunchline memory was starting a freestyle rap battle with a classmate my sophomore year. It was an activity that helped the time go by, making the wait enjoyable. So, I tend to fill the moments of waiting with some other entertainment in order to get me through mentally.
Also, my mom would take me to big concerts as a child. Although I loved some good ol’ rock n roll, exiting both the stadium and the parking garage of the venue required strategy. Usually, she would make us leave 1 or 2 songs before the show ended in order to avoid crowd congestion at the exit gates. It makes sense, yet it trained me to avoid lines over time. By this point, patience is not my nature.
My parents are both fast-moving, fast-thinking people. Growing up in a single-mother environment, I picked up traits of impatience. Whenever we went out to restaurants, she would demand her napkins, her drinks, her checks immediately. When she’s ready, she shouldn’t wait, and that was the policy of our household. Eventually, it became my policy.
Bicycling didn’t help, either. As my main means of commuting in early adulthood, I got quite accustomed to running red lights, stop signs, and squeezing through close corners that helped me shortcut the way toward my destination. After a while of doing that, it created an expectation that I can cheat my way past anything to get there first, whatever “there” was. Among all of these factors thus far, I consider this one most significant for ingraining impatience into my blood. When physically pedaling, I rely on my momentum to maintain speed. Any slight cause for braking results in more physical exertion to gain back momentum. It becomes painful when riding for a considerable time of 30 minutes or more. The small delays stack up in physical discomfort. Over time, I developed a preference to avoid/mitigate that discomfort as much as possible, and the result was rarely coming to a full stop. That’s the point I’m trying to make: I got spoiled by the feeling of perpetual movement, and anything that brought me to a full stop would frustrate me. I had no patience for waiting. Not even a minute.
Now, this impatience is in my DNA. And it’s not just on the road. Whether it be listening, troubleshooting a task, or just trying to get from point A to B, I fail to allow time to do its work. Life happens, things get in the way of our goals, and patience is what separates those who trip over their feet from those who overcome. Even though Omar was harmless in his remark the other day, I can’t look away from the seed of truth that packed a punch.
As I discussed this with my girlfriend, I came to a realization: patience is love. It is an act of understanding. We all get to our places in our own time, by our own means. It’s critical that I remember this truth for myself. She told me that there is a popular Bible scripture for this rule:
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
1 Corinthians 13:4-6
Good lord, I am not one for pushing Bible talk at all. I was not raised religious, so I never learned about this common phrase, or teaching. Still, the truth of the passage works for me. Kindness is understanding. I have a bad habit of boasting, and I am very proud of my ability to shortcut. My impatience is an act of self-seeking, and when I have to wait, I am easily-angered. And to a degree, I delight in evil whenever I look over my shoulder at my opponents in the dust with a “told-ya-so” smugness. To be impatient is to have less love.
I’m ready to be a better man. To get back to the love. If I admire those that act with diligence and poise, then I should figure out how to gain those attributes for myself. For me, it starts with patience, and mine is ready for a holistic overhaul.
I am so frustrated, and it’s really ironic. I had almost finished writing this long blog post about patience, up to the last couple of sentences, and then the power at our apartment randomly went out at 9:00 am. It was just a surge for a second. I was writing this as my morning exercise, first thing I did today, really proud of how it was written, and then I come back after rebooting my computer, and I’ve lost every single word. What a heartbreak. Talk about patience… hope the rewrite was still enjoyable.