My dad’s patience quotient was abysmal. If he was explaining geometry to me, and I didn’t get it right away, he became frustrated. If he started searching for something he misplaced and couldn’t find it within 10 seconds, he’d get frustrated. If he was ready to leave the house, and we were all fussing about, yep, he became frustrated. I think he was frustrated about far weightier issues than these, but nevertheless, this was his pattern.
Unfortunately, I inherited the lack-of-patience gene. I was always in a perpetual race with myself and frustrated by other’s tardiness, dawdling or slow comprehension. I arrived at appointments early, without fail, and became upset when others were late. I finished my assignments before their deadlines and would feel disappointed when my editors didn’t get back to me pronto. If I didn’t hear from a potential client when he said he’d call, I’d call him. When I explained an idea to an employee, I expected her to understand it right away. If a problem arose, I couldn’t wait to solve it. I usually didn’t sacrifice quality for speed, but I did drive myself—and others—to drink, or at least, to distraction.
I’ve worked hard to change. Although I still want to solve problems quickly and prefer people to call when they say they will, I understand that patience can indeed be a virtue. It’s also a necessity to becoming a happier FOF woman.
Sometimes I’m even late for appointments .
* Benjamin Franklin