I have a new found interest in cultivating patience. It’s never been my strong suit. I don’t know if it’s the natural process of growing up or being beaten down by whirly ways of the real world where things move only when they must, but as the months and years pass, I’m really only now seeing the value in patience.
If that sounds like the well aged wisdom of an owl your granny might give you, you’re not far off the mark. This kind of simple but overwhelming truth brings with it that kind of gravitas. Holds its place like a boss, setting all the upsets around, to rest.
Perhaps why it’s suddenly got my attention is the fact that patience feels like a natural subset to being present. Of simplifying and paring things down. Of letting everything unfurl. Of joining in the pace rather than setting it.
I am not only interested in learning patience in the classic sense, to wait. But also to wholly believe that everything has its own time, and the moment comes when it most needs to, not necessarily when I need it to. And that when it does, it is for the best possible outcome.
There is a softness and grace with which I find myself looking at situations today, situations that would previously get me agitated or hyper. Restless no longer feels like the space where things happen. Restful, on the other hand is where it’s at.
In the moments between, the ability to wait it out grounds me, while the subtle lightness of the right moment flutters by, doing it’s thing like sprinkles of magic settling on my skin, my outstretched limbs, my eyelashes.
Where I am, is right. Where I will be, will be fine too. But when I’m here, lying in waiting it already feels like magic.
Two years ago: Day 74: How we’ve aged (Part 2)