On Patience

Patience is a virtue.

A guru tells me that the root of my impatience is insecurity. I marvel over the thought. How interesting. This fear that if you are not chosen first you will never be chosen. This phobia of being forgotten. Instant gratification spoils romance. What happened to certainty? Knowing what you need and wanting it now. Can I call this certainty? Expecting the Universe to follow my timeline. Isn’t this narcissism?—-Expecting the universe to revolve around my needs, or naivety — crying when they do not. Would I be impatient if our timelines aligned? No waiting games, no fear or fret, exactly what you wanted when you wanted it. Impatience is an ugly word.

Wasted time is worse than wasted money.

Blame it on social media. Blame it on the Internet. Blame it on the fact that I can call anyone anywhere anytime—yet that isn’t to say that they’ll pick up. Patience is a dance with time: time is leading you and patience is giving into being led. Why can’t we let go? Because we don’t have that much time. Funny then — time is no dance instructor, time has no patience, time waits for no one.

Why fall in love when you can fall asleep?

Butterflies in your stomach, in your throat, wiggling on your tongue. Impatience can keep you up at night. The guru giggles and tells us to wait, give in, let go and let God. She jokes that things worth having are worth waiting for and I laugh with her. I no longer think this is a matter of impatience, I begin to wonder if this is a matter of trust. How can I trust that time has my back? Patience watered on time, time then chooses to grow or wither. Time calls the shots, but can I trust that time will call them in my favor? The only answer is patience peppered with hope.

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