I titled this blog post Impatience, so it is no surprise that I was stewing in my own impatience as I waited for the image of this pinecone to upload. Why does everything always feel too slow?! It is this very same pinecone that inspired the train of thought I hope to unravel here. Spying it on the trail during a hike, I immediately recalled a line from Mary Oliver's poem, It Was Early. The line is "Dear pine cone, let me hold you as you open." It always struck me when I read that line, if I chose to take it literally, how impossible LONG the time would be, waiting for a pinecone to open! Pinecones and their slow blossoming outward have since been a prompt to consider my own patience, or lack thereof.
I originally titled this post Patience, but then it felt absurd that I would attempt to write about something I know so little of. Impatience, on the other hand, I am quite at home with. A client recently asked me to work with them on developing patience. How would this be possible, when I know so little of patience in my own life? I am thinking of a story told about Mahatma Gandhi. One day a woman in his village came to him and asked him to speak with her son, who had been eating too much sugar. Gandhi asked her to come back to him in three months and ask him again. Three months later she returned and made the same request of Gandhi. This time, he spoke to her son, and he did indeed stop eating too much sugar. The woman asked Gandhi, "Why did you not speak with my son three months ago, when I first asked you?" Gandhi replied, "Three months ago, I, too, was eating sugar." In this story I found inspiration: before discussing patience with another, perhaps I had best consider developing it in my own life.
As soon as I began paying attention to this topic, my impatience became visible at every turn. The dog is sniffing too long at a bush: I impatiently tug on the leash and say "Let's go!" The car in front of me is driving too slow: I roll my eyes. Even during mindfulness practice, I find myself wondering when the bell will ring, signaling the end of a five-minute interval! These are just instances of impatience in the immediate, local sense (and there are thousands more that I will not bore you with). I also experience the close-cousin to impatience: longing. This is the state of mind we find ourselves in when we are dissatisfied with some aspect of our lives and are longing for a different state (place, relationship, job, body) that will no doubt lead to more happiness! In other words, I am impatient with WHAT IS, and am pulling toward some other state of affairs.
Both impatience and longing rob us of the present moment. They take us out of presence and leave us in a state of perpetual dissatisfaction with what is. I know that life offers me hundreds of chances to practice patience each day. I could do mindful breathing or a mantra when I am stuck in traffic. I could listen to the birds in the trees while my dog sniffs endlessly at the spot on the bush. I could hunt up a good book at the airport bookstore when my flight is delayed. I am struck by the thousands of choices we have each day: How will I respond to this moment? I believe the real "practice" opportunity is ever present. Will I struggle and push back, and label this moment in terms of a like or dislike, push it to go faster or slower? The invitation here is to relax into what is, to receive it, to notice and participate. My hope is that the more I do this, the more I will find patience to be my natural state, not impatience. Or maybe, just maybe, the whole idea of patience will be irrelevant? Here and now: an open door to presence, always.