Let me share something that’s been on my mind lately – our relationship with time and patience in this fast-paced world. You know that feeling when you’re hovering over the microwave, watching those last few seconds tick by? That’s been me, more times than I’d like to admit. In fact, it wasn’t long ago that I caught myself frantically tapping my phone screen, waiting for those three dots to turn into a message response. It hit me then: I’d become that person who couldn’t wait for anything.
The thing is, we’re all swimming in a sea of instant everything – instant messages, instant deliveries, instant answers. Looking back, I can see how easily I fell into the trap of expecting everything in life to move at the speed of a Wi-Fi connection. But here’s what I’ve learned along my journey: the sweetest moments in life rarely come with a “skip intro” button.
Let me tell you about my experiment with patience (and yes, I’m still very much a work in progress). I started small – really small. Instead of reaching for my phone first thing in the morning, I began sitting with my coffee, watching the steam rise, feeling the warmth of the cup in my hands. At first, it felt excruciating. Five minutes felt like fifty. My hand would twitch toward my phone, my mind screaming for its usual dose of morning notifications.
But then something shifted.
I started noticing things. The way the morning light painted shadows on my wall. The rhythm of my breath. The simple pleasure of being still. It wasn’t an overnight transformation – more like watching a garden grow, one tiny sprout at a time.
Here’s what’s working for me, in case you’re on a similar path:
When my mind races ahead, I’ve learned to pause and breathe. Not the quick, shallow kind of breathing, but deep belly breaths that remind me I’m anchored in this moment. It’s like dropping an anchor in stormy waters – everything else might be swirling, but I can find my center.
I’ve started setting goals that can’t be rushed – like learning to play an instrument or growing herbs in my kitchen window. These small projects remind me that some of the best things in life unfold on their own timeline. Every withered plant and off-key note teaches me something about persistence and grace.
The hardest part? Putting down my phone. I set up what I call “quiet zones” in my day – periods where notifications can wait. It felt like withdrawals at first (I’m not even kidding), but now these quiet moments are like little oases in my day.
Perhaps the most transformative practice has been keeping a gratitude journal. Not just listing the big stuff, but noticing the tiny miracles: the perfect ripeness of an avocado, a well-timed green light, a stranger’s smile. It helps me remember that life is already full of gifts, even when I’m waiting for something bigger.
Here’s what I’ve discovered: patience isn’t about gritting your teeth through the waiting. It’s about finding peace in the present moment, even when it’s not exactly where you want to be. It’s about trusting that some things – usually the most important things – can’t be rushed.
You know that quote about patience being the companion of wisdom? I’m starting to understand it differently now. Wisdom isn’t just about knowing things; it’s about being comfortable with not knowing, with not having everything figured out right now.
💭 I’d really love to know:
What’s your relationship with patience like? Where do you feel that pull of instant gratification the strongest? Maybe you’ve found your own ways to navigate this fast-paced world while keeping your peace. I’d love to hear your story, your struggles, your victories in this journey toward patience.
Because at the end of the day, we’re all learning how to dance with time, aren’t we? Some days we stumble, some days we flow. And maybe that’s exactly how it’s supposed to be.
Until next time, remember: the next time you’re waiting for something – whether it’s your coffee to brew or your dreams to unfold – take a breath. Look around. This moment, too, is part of the journey.