Patience

I have a confession to make - I am not good at patience.

I can be quiet and still, often misconstrued as patience. Due to my years as a lifeguard and aquatics director, I've got a good "calm" poker face amidst the mayhem. But it's fake.

The un-admirable part of me leans into this facade because I want praise for my patience. I want to be known as a patient person. So this is my public declaration: it's a mask.

The truth is that I am much better about approaching the idea of waiting than I am waiting. Expecting a few days of insecurity on the front side of it, I can tell my brain it'll be a short practice, nothing we can't handle. But when the marker I expected passes and the waiting stretches out endlessly in front of me, then I start to act out.

The acting-out looks like endless to-do lists and frantic home organization projects. I also gain a sense of control in the list-making. As long as I'm sitting here, forcing reality to be a simple checklist, I don't have to deal with fear and anxiety.

Generally, these coping mechanisms aren't terrible approaches. But as a Five, it's easy for me to fall into the planning and never follow-through with the doing.

This moment is turning into a cyclone of creativity and anticipation for me. I swing a little back and forth every day from ready to re-organize my whole house, or trying my hand at writing a novel, to wanting to sleep the day away, and maybe there will be better news tomorrow. I wonder if I should take the opportunity to lean into something unconventional. Then I remember that security is my core motivation, and charting an unknown path is terrifying to me. It is ex.haus.ting. And I know I'm not alone in this right now. Possibly, it's your experience, too.

I'm making this confession because I need to be honest. It's easy to trick people thanks to social media. We've all been talking about the curated Instagram feeds and the selective status sharing. I'm not saying anything new or particularly profound here. I'm mostly trying to channel this frenetic energy into creation, rather than driving my husband crazy by moving things around the house. So you get 390 words on my internal struggle instead of a review of a book.

I'll get back to the reviews eventually. I hope.

Today I'm just trying to focus on the next five minutes.