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December 12, 2017

 

I've never successfully cultivated patience. I have my reminders, my tricks, my ongoing studies in the art of stillness to keep me, more or less, from succumbing to the crackly, over-sugared, overtired four-year-old that is my brain. Not always, mind you--half a lifetime devoted to studying yoga has had *some* residual effect. I'm always working on it, but it's not my default setting; let's leave it there. 

 

Now (perhaps unrelated), I moved around a lot as a kid, then throughout college, throughout my 20's, and well into my 30's. Until recently, I'd never spent more than five consecutive years in one place. This wasn't restlessness, mind you--that, thankfully, isn't part of my problem with patience--but happenstance: life, jobs, school, family, relationships, dreams, and landscape. But I now wonder if that vagabond lifestyle didn't undermine my studies in patience. Perhaps a wiser person, a more enlightened person, would find ample opportunity for on-the-life-training in this constant shifting. I am not that person. 

 

And I notice, out of long habit, that on that five-year mark, something overtakes me--not a restlessness per se--but a feeling that something *should* have happened by now. Something major. Because it always has--but I'm not sure that's been a good thing. After all, I'm a self-professed junky for routine, for quiet, for stillness, for simplicity. So what is this impatience hang-up? It drives me to distraction (and, yes, I hear what I'm saying--the impatience in my impatience). 

 

As far as I can see, the only way to combat it is to beat it at its own game. When impatience comes barreling at me, full-force, I'll remain. I'll no longer dodge from its path, but meet it head-on. After all, what can it do to me, in the end? I can learn, it cannot. I'll out-wait it.

 

Then we'll see who's left standing. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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