I believe there are certain attributes we're allotted fixed quantities of each day -- cleanliness, courtesy, tolerance for TNT promos. No matter what we do, only a new night will refresh our stores and allow us to again be thoughtful, caring members of the human race. I think patience is one such attribute.
I usually have a wealth of patience for children and animals. For everyone else, it's a crap shoot. Normally, I can allot my patience throughout the day -- an extra five minutes waiting in traffic, a few more minutes for the cashier in training at the BP station, deep breaths when someone asks how I ever expect to earn a living as a writer. But, if anything exceptionally time-consuming happens, my patience for the whole day is shot.
If the pharmacists takes 45 minutes to fill a prescription he or she promised in 10 minutes, I'll be perfectly cordial to that pharmacist. (Should I be worried that all of my anecdotes take place in the pharmacy? I guess we all write what we now.) I'll thank him or her and take my meds without complaint.
However, the next person to slow me down is out of luck.
Ruby Tuesday: "You said I'd have a table in 15 minutes. It's been 16, and I want some freakin' sliders!"
Intersections: "Are you color blind? Because that's the only reason to still be sitting still on a green light!"
Neighbors: "Of course, you had my mail for two days. Because Laurel Mills printed on an envelope looks just like your name you crazy b*&%^."
(I rarely get quite as bad as that last one, but it's not entirely outside the realm of possibility.)
On those days when my patience is gone, nothing from meditation to a cocktail can get me back on track, but I wake up the next morning feeling reset to zero and ready to cope with a world of lines, muzak and lagging Internet connections. I might be weird, but all I really know is that I don't get the appropriate daily store for a career in social services or mental health.
Despite what patience I have or don't have, as the case may be, for others, I tend to have no patience when it comes to myself. I often feel like Barbra Streisand's character in The Way We Were, I want, I want, I want, and I usually want now, now, now. I want a career and a family and thinner thighs. And when they're not right in front of me, I worry they'll never come to me. I call it a question of patience, but there's a lot of trust and faith tied up in there, too.
The scary thing is that my impatience often makes me hold onto things not worth having. I'd keep the wrong job or the wrong boyfriend because I didn't want to start all over. (Just think of all that lost time!) Because, if it was a question of will, I'd find a way to make it work. After all, I'm a smart girl, surely I could find a way to make someone love me/advance my career/bend the universe to my agenda. And we all know what pushing and holding on too tightly can do.
Oh, control, or the lack thereof, why must you taunt me always? Even in line at Ruby Tuesday?
I should probably do a little more waiting. Or, at least, a little less rushing.
In my struggles with patience and control, I like to think of something Terri Cheney wrote in her memoir, Manic, " ... My greatest victories have always been surrenders." Surrenders to the universe, to time, to fate. The surrender of letting go. Of trusting a little more and not forgetting to enjoy the ride. Easier said than done, but I'm trying.
I'm sure my pharmacist will be appreciative.
