The Power of Patience

by M J Ryan

  One thing I've discovered is that, one way or another, like I did with Ana, patience is created by putting the irritant—person, place, or thing—into perspective. “I ask myself,” said one friend, “whether this will matter in fifteen years or fifteen days. Or even fifteen minutes. Almost always that helps me see that whatever I think is worthy of getting worked up over is actually no big deal.” Or as my friend Dawna, who has struggled with cancer on and off for thirty-some years, wrote in an email to me yesterday: “Well, a hundred things went wrong today, but they're all better than cancer!”

  Whenever we put whatever is happening into a larger perspective, we automatically gain patience. That's because we take our focus off the particulars of the situation—that Jim didn't take out the trash, again; that Dad didn't thank us, again, for the visit—and place it in the larger context of the overall meaning of our lives.

  From this wider place, we can ask some vital questions: Does this really matter? What is important here? Jim is a great father and a kind, gentle mate. What's a bit of trash-forgetting in relation to that? What do we really want from our relationship? More love and a sense of togetherness or a cleaner house?

  Patience is created when we keep our eyes on the big picture and don't get so caught up in the minutia of our daily lives. It's like having a wide-angle lens on a camera as well as a zoom. Up close, even a molehill can seem overwhelming; from a distance, we can see that in fact it's not a mountain. The good news is that you're holding the camera—and can switch lenses anytime you want.

  PEOPLE ARE ONLY HUMAN

  I love being married. It's so great to find that one special person you want to annoy for the rest of your life.

  RITA RUDNER

  Before I met my husband, I lived for fourteen years with a man named Will. During the last six years of our relationship, he worked an hour and a half away in a very high-powered job that required a lot of hours. I never knew when he'd be home. This was in the days before cell phones, so I made what to me was a simple request: please call me at 5 p.m. every day to let me know when you'll be leaving the office. That way I can plan for dinner, etc.

  Easy, right? He couldn't do it, at least not consistently. He'd call for days in a row and then forget. He'd get tied up in a meeting. He'd get stuck on a plane. Whatever. I could not get him to do it. The more he forgot, the angrier I became. Eventually my patience disappeared completely; every lapse was a reminder of all the times he had forgotten. He began to avoid me because all I was doing was complaining.

  If there is one lesson I wish I learned before I was in my forties, it is that you can't control someone else's behavior. Honestly, you can't. People will be people. But so many of our communications at work and at home revolve around trying to get other people to behave differently. Our efforts may result in someone understanding a bit better what we want and why, but ultimately whether or not a person changes is entirely up to him or her. We can offer support, but we can't make the person dance to our tune.

  I can't control whether my husband does his back exercises, although I can support him in doing them if he wants to; I can't control whether my employees are self-motivated, although I can create the conditions that would increase the likelihood of their taking responsibility; I couldn't even control when my then three-year-old would be potty trained, although I could encourage her.

  This is such a blind spot for most of us that in The Inner Game of Work, Tim Gallwey offers a list of what we can and can't control in relation to other people. You can't control the other person's attitude or receptivity; how well he or she listens; the other person's motivation or priorities; his or her availability; whether he or she likes you; his or her ability to understand your point; how the other interprets what you have to say; whether the person accepts your point.

  You can control your attitude toward the other person; your attitude toward learning; how receptively you listen; your acknowledgments of the person's point of view; your respect for the other person's time; your expression of enthusiasm for his or her idea; the amount of time you spend listening and speaking; your idea of yourself.

  Notice the difference between the two lists. You can't control anything about someone else, but you have complete control of how you relate to him or her, and that, of course, will drastically impact his or her willingness to receive your viewpoint.

  The more we recognize our complete lack of control over others, the more patience we'll have because we'll stop bashing our heads against the rock of the way they are and begin to aim our patience in the right direction—toward ourselves putting up with whatever it is that we want them to change.

  In trying circumstances with other human beings, we can do no better than remember the Serenity Prayer: “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I can't change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

  SOME THINGS ARE WORTH WAITING FOR

  Waiting sharpens desire. In fact it helps us recognize where our real desires lie. It separates our passing enthusiasms from our true longings.

  DAVID RUNCORN

  A while back I read an article in the New York Times about the fact that J. K. Rowling was having trouble finishing up book five in the Harry Potter series and her young readers were losing patience. One was even quoted as saying something like “If she doesn't hurry, we're going to move on to caring about something else.”

  This remark really bothered me because of the underlying attitude such a comment implies: you must immediately satisfy my desires or I'm out of here. If it were an isolated comment by one individual, it would not have made such an impression on me. But it reflects, I believe, a growing trend within society as a whole: we're too fickle to hang in there for something we say we want.

  The irony is, say those who study such things, that when we do get everything we want as soon as we want it, we get jaded and dissatisfied with everything. It's the malaise of those who are born into extreme wealth—nothing ends up pleasing because it came too easily. There is something in the human psyche that needs to work toward what we desire in order to feel truly satisfied. Part of what feels good about getting what we want, it turns out, is that we've had to wait for it. Think of the taste of freshly baked bread after you've allowed the yeast to do its work. The wait sharpens your appetite.

  I experienced the truth of this recently. A few years ago, I had to downsize due to economic realities, moving from a designer-built house with hardwood floors to a much smaller nondescript place with wall-to-wall beige carpeting that soon showed every stain a toddler and two cats could produce. I wanted to rip that carpet out from the day I laid eyes on it. So I saved my pennies and, four years later, my wish came true as I installed hardwood flooring throughout the house. Glistening golden tan oak with a smooth, shiny surface—my heart sings every time I cast my eyes on it. And, funny thing, I appreciate those floors much more than I did the ones in my previous house. Because I waited and worked for them.

  When we recognize that waiting actually can bring greater enjoyment than the immediate gratification of our needs, it makes patience much easier to practice. If I had known this, I could have said to myself as I stared at that disgusting carpet, Imagine how much more pleasure I'm going to have when I finally do get my floors!

  Being made to wait has another benefit. It helps us figure out what we truly want and what really matters to us. I wanted those floors on day one and 1,460 days later I still wanted them. They were no passing fancy.

  Remembering that some things are worth waiting for helps us decide what it is that is worth the wait, and to prize it truly when we do receive it.

  IT WILL WORK OUT

  Faith is belief in the unseen, the quietly held conviction that even though you can't imagine how, at some time, in some place, in the right way, the thing you desire will indeed come to pass.

  DAPHNE ROSE KINGMA

  Sara is an entrepreneur in her late twenties who just opened a high-end business in a tough economy. �
�I find myself constantly irritable with my partner and my employees,” she confessed to me. “My partner spends half the day saying ‘chill out’ to me. The worst part is that I think he's right. My impatience is not helping the situation, but I can't seem to snap out of it.”

  Sara has a great deal of self-awareness. When I asked her why she thought she was so impatient with everyone including herself, she got very quiet, and then said, “Oh, I see what it is, I'm afraid of the future. I'm so anxious about the possibility of failing that I am trying to do everything to keep the bad future from happening. Meanwhile my impatience is only increasing the chances that we will fail!”

  As this young woman discovered, one of the attitudes that fosters patience is faith in a good outcome. When we believe in a happy future, we can wait more calmly now. This takes faith—in ourselves, our partners, our God, the benevolence of the universe—because we have no guarantee one way or another. We must live as if it will turn out, without knowing precisely how it will end up. And that is not always easy, particularly when there's a lot at stake.

  The irony is that, while there are no guarantees, from the state of serenity that faith produces, it is more likely that the good outcome will occur. When we are fearful and impatient, we are off-balance, cut off from our deep inner wisdom which could guide us through the challenges we're facing. With our patience intact, we can apply all of our resources, both inner and outer, to the task at hand.

  Faith in the good outcome doesn't mean that we become Pollyannas with our heads in the sand, oblivious to the real hardships of our lives. We should be prudent and seek quality advice and support when needed. We must tell ourselves the truth of our situation, even if it's not pretty. Then, armed with the facts and our faith, we can make the best decisions possible.

  I once had a client who came to me and said, “I have two weeks until my business runs out of money. I have faith in my products and myself. What do you think I should do?” The two of us brainstormed for one hour and then she left. I didn't see her for six months. Then, out of the blue, I got a call from her saying that she had found a distributor and was hanging in there.

  Faith in a good outcome doesn't guarantee that life will turn out exactly as we want it. Businesses and relationships fail; the stock market goes down as well as up. Ultimately our faith asks us to believe that even if it doesn't turn out the way we wanted, it still is for the best—we developed resources we never knew we had; formed friendships we wouldn't have otherwise; learned skills we can put to good use.

  That's what Sara came to see—that even if her business failed, she would not have. She would have benefited immensely from the experience, particularly if she used it as an occasion to grow in patience, wisdom, and faith. And that alone would be a good outcome.

  IT TAKES AS LONG AS IT TAKES

  Some things can only happen through time. They only happen—time carries them.

  M. C. RICHARDS

  A few years ago, my husband lost his job when the company he was working for went out of business. Going to what he thought was an informational interview, he stumbled upon the perfect new opportunity—the place was close by, with flexible hours to accommodate our daughter's needs, good health insurance, in an industry he loves. The woman who spoke with him had just decided she needed help.

  The two of them seemed to click, although she was making no promises. The job was with a large, public institution and there were many hoops to go through. It would take a month, she thought, before he would know one way or the other.

  A month passed. He continued to look, but nothing fell into his lap. The woman called at one point to say that the process was still going on. After two months, he wondered whether he should issue her an ultimatum, but decided since this was a job he really wanted, he should wait patiently. Three months passed; he took a temporary position. Several more times he was tempted to call her up and read her the riot act, but decided that it was better to be upbeat and eager when they spoke. Finally, all that patience paid off—four months to the day after his first interview, he was hired.

  I believe he got that job because he remembered a crucial lesson: things take as long as they take. Or, as some spiritual teacher once said, “You can't push the river.” I thought of this recently when someone shared her eighty-three-year-old grandmother's wisdom: “When you've got a cold, you can bundle up, stay in bed, drink chicken soup, and it will be gone in seven days. Or you can do nothing about it and it will be gone in seven days.”

  Maybe you're not suffering from a cold or waiting for a job, but chances are there are things in your life that you must simply wait for, even if you don't want to: to meet the right person; for the test results to come in; to make more money; to know whether your child will get the college scholarship. We're all being asked to wait seemingly beyond our limits.

  When we remember that whatever it is that's driving us crazy is going to take as long as it takes to resolve, it's easier to be patient. We surrender to time as it passes through us, rather than insisting it happen now. A baby takes a full nine months to grow in the womb. We don't want it to arrive prematurely. What if we viewed the things we are trying to hurry along like new life instead? How would that affect our capacity to wait?

  The more we reconcile ourselves to the fact that life moves at its own pace, the more patience we'll have. This kind of patience, which goes far beyond putting up with the momentary irritation of the laundry undone or someone interrupting you before you've finished speaking, is soul making. Waiting patiently asks us to allow life to move through and transform us as we bend like cattails in the wind, twisting and turning but somehow surviving.

  THERE'S MORE THAN ONE RIGHT WAY

  Patience is something you admire in the driver behind you, but not in the one ahead.

  BILL MCGLASHEN

  Don and I were in the car. He was driving. Coming up on a yellow light, he stopped rather than accelerating. I sighed. You know the kind of sigh I mean. The longtime couples' sigh that says, You are trying my patience, but I am not going to argue. The light changed and he took off, more slowly than I would have. I sighed again. He pulled into a parking lot. “There's a space,” I said, pointing to the first one that appeared. He drove on, looking for one closer to our destination. I sighed.

  Later on, I thought about those sighs and the thousands of others I've made in the years we've been together. It's not enjoyable to become impatient with the person you love. So why does it happen to me so often? Suddenly I had a flash of insight—it's because I believe there is a right way to do things. My way.

  Inside of me is a Know-It-All who spends her time judging the people closest to me. And I'm not just talking about things worthy of being judged, like morality and ethics. I'm talking judging someone negatively for stopping at a yellow light because I determined there was time to get through! The loving part of me wants to say, “Oh please! Give the guy a break.” But the Know-It-All has quite a hold on me when it comes to my spouse and she's one impatient lady. Things have to be done on her terms, on her timetable, or she gets annoyed.

  I think Ms. Know-It-All has a lot of company. Much of our intolerance and anger come from believing that we have the corner on the right way to be, and the rest of the world is wrong for not marching to our tune.

  Recently I came across a synonym for patience I'd never heard before: “sweet reasonableness.” I loved that! It reminds me that when we're reasonable, we can see that there are many ways to get things done. The people in our lives are different from us, thank goodness, and so of course they will go about doing things differently. Differently, not better or worse. The less time we spend judging them, the happier we'll be. Plus we empower the people in our lives when we trust them to do something in their own way and at their rhythm. We signal that we know they are capable and appreciate their competency.

  However, my judgmental part is very strong; I've spent a lot of time feeding it. I've begun dealing with it by forming a club with a friend with a similar str
eak. We call it the Know-It-All Club. We talk to each other when we're on our high horses about our spouses and help the other person to see sweet reason.

  I also take inspiration from the wise counsel of a woman known as Peace Pilgrim who once wrote, “Judging others will avail you nothing and injure you spiritually. Only if you inspire others to judge themselves will anything worthwhile have been accomplished.”

  But the most useful thing I've found is to ask myself in those moments, Who appointed you God? That reminds me that I am not infallible and, in remembering that, I am able to dance more gracefully with my partner in the give-and-take that is a truly loving relationship.

  WELCOME, TEACHERS OF PATIENCE

  To practice patience, you need a real rascal to help you. It's no use practicing on gentle and kind creatures, for they require no patience.

  FROM “THE MAGIC OF PATIENCE,” A JATAKA TALE WRITTEN AROUND 300 B.C.

  My good friend Kate has a troublesome sister. They have never gotten along, from the day Kate was born, nine years after her sister Ruth. The two of us were discussing our sisters one day when Kate said something startling.

  “Ruth was incredibly jealous of me because I stole her only-child status,” explained Kate, “and even though it's fifty years later, there's still tension. I can moan and complain that I don't have a good relationship with my sister, but ultimately, I give thanks for her because she is my greatest teacher. Whatever patience I possess, I got from dealing with her. It's important to me to have as good a relationship as possible with her, so I've learned to put up with her coolness and to give without expectation of kindness in return.”