Once upon a time, a judge told my mother, “Marilyn, you have the patience of a pissant!”
Luckily, he was a good family friend, and she took it in stride. It became one of our favorite family legends. As a nurse, my mom was the soul of patience with those in her care—but when it came to her own needs, she wanted what she wanted, and she wanted it now!
I seem to have inherited that same “impatient gene.” Living in Panama, the land of “posible más tarde” (maybe later), gives me plenty of opportunities to investigate and sharpen this edge.
Earlier in life, my inner growth was guided by what I now call The Three Pearls of Practice: Pause, Position, and Presence. I learned to pause to interrupt reactivity, position myself in alignment with what matters, and return to presence—fully here, fully aware. These practices helped me navigate change, cultivate awareness, and respond with integrity. But Patience, the Fourth Pearl, eluded me. It revealed itself when the road stretched longer than expected—when progress stalled, answers didn’t come, or life simply refused to follow my timeline.
Impatience often springs from the grip of “I need this NOW.” But when urgency clouds our vision, we lose perspective—and that frustration can spiral into resentment, anger, or even cruelty. We tend to get agitated when things slow down—when people hesitate, change plans, or delays interrupt our momentum.
I’ve noticed this especially when I’m hungry, tired, or stretched too thin—my patience vanishes quickly. But what’s really going on beneath the surface? Often, impatience isn’t about the delay itself. It’s about fear—fear of losing time, losing control, or not getting what we need.
Impatience is your nervous system asking for reassurance. It’s like a child tugging at your hand, pleading, “Will everything be okay?”
Patience, then, isn’t about gritting your teeth and forcing yourself to wait. It’s about growing the inner capacity to stay grounded and open—especially when life doesn’t go your way.
The Dalai Lama teaches that patience is not passive resignation. It’s the courageous practice of keeping your heart steady and compassionate in the face of difficulty. From that place of peace, we make wiser choices—without the collateral damage of reactivity.
Let me be clear: patience is not about waiting forever. It’s not passivity dressed up as virtue. And it’s not a way to avoid hard truths.
So how do we grow patience as a living, creative practice?
1. Know What Triggers You
What situations stir your impatience—traffic, indecision, delays? Ask: “What am I afraid of right now?” Often, it’s not the situation—it’s our fear of uncertainty or unmet needs.
2. Shift Your Inner Dialogue
Instead of “This is taking too long,” try “This is a chance to slow down.” Ask yourself, “What’s here for me right now?” The language you use shapes your nervous system.
3. Practice Sitting with the Unknown
Patience thrives in uncertainty. Stretch your tolerance for the ambiguous by doing nothing—just breathing, pausing, noticing. Let go of fixing, finishing, or forcing.
4. Widen Your Time Horizon
Much impatience comes from short-term thinking. Remember: real love, healing, and growth unfold over time. Ask: “Who am I becoming as I wait well?”
5. Redirect the Energy
While you wait, do something small and nourishing—stretch, write a note, sip water, breathe deeply. These gentle acts train your body to regulate in moments of tension.
6. Treat Patience as a Creative Act
It’s a skill, not a personality trait. Be kind to yourself when you fall short. Every pause instead of a reaction, stretches your capacity for presence and peace.
The Dalai Lama calls patience one of the most essential qualities for peace—not just personal, but global. Impatience clouds our vision. Patience clears it. When we practice it, we don’t just wait better—we live better.
Patience then, isn’t the absence of urgency. It’s the presence of grace. And in a world that rushes toward everything, grace may be the most radical path of all.