Fighting the tides

My left leg eagerly bounces up and down. My heart races, and the sweats come in. I'm not waiting; I'm ready and loaded. Every morning, I wake up in the same state. Every day is taken with the same level of eagerness, mixed with a bit of anxiety, a dash of authoritarianism and a colossal ton of impatience.

Since the very moment my consciousness took form, I’ve lived in anticipation. I move to the rapid beat of my racing heart. I anxiously anticipate the next hurdle, the next opportunity, the next what if, as early as I possibly can. I live in meticulous preparation for the next lesson. I take every piece of knowledge obtained with a grain of salt, and I certainly do not learn by waiting. There’s an insatiable control freak inside of me, and she doesn’t care for things like patience.

However, as life would have it, patience is being thrusted upon me against my own will, and I can't do anything but embrace it. There is such a thing as free will, is there not? Was I wrong to assume that I had any will over the course of my life, or do the merciless hands of fate still yield all control?

You don't have "free will" when it comes to learning lessons in life. You can't choose to opt out of the course of "Life" and get a tuition refund. Nope, you're stuck and forced to pass. It's either that, or life keeps testing you until you learn. Pick the better evil, I guess.

"impatient by day, control-freak by night"

Patience rarely comes to me but when it does, it's often because my life depends on it. When I avoid the inevitability of patience for too long, it results in me participating in a string of awfully impulsive decisions. When those finally catch up to me, "patience" mockingly strolls into the picture with a look that shouts I told you so.

Still, I don't invite patience as kindly as others. I resist it for a selfish reason: I need control. Patience does not give you that. In fact, patience invites us to see a situation as uncontrollable. To me, that is absurd.

Rather than seeing my lack of control in a situation, I normally maximize what limited control I might have. If the stars aligned in my hypothetical world where "free-will" and "control" exist, everything I want is right within reach. And isn't that just the greatest?

I'm committed to piecing together the puzzle, figuring out the formula. Patience doesn't get you far when you're trying to find out the big answer to everything. It feels like it's taking me in the completely opposite direction!

I suppose that's why I'm unkind to the idea of patience– meanwhile, patience has been nothing but annoyingly pleasant with me. 

"control + conflict = chaos"

Ah, there's no escaping it. The sour sensation of losing control. The rapid deterioration of my mental state when all hell breaks loose.

I don't enjoy conflict any more than the next person, but I am especially awful at handling it. I mean, like an award-winning level of awful... like if we were competing for who was worst at managing conflict, I would easily come out on top.

Controlling conflict is impossible.

Again for those in the back (me), controlling conflict is not possible.

Ugh. When did this hard-headed seriousness, this unearthing sense of pressure, an unquenchable thirst for control, leak into my precious consciousness? Better yet, when did it start to fuel my every action?

Managing conflict feels like jumping into the deep, blue ocean and learning how to swim, every damn time. It's never a straightforward task, and you could just end up drowning in a cascading flood of thoughts. Patience gives you that balance. It calms the waters, so you at least have the chance to swim.

Without it, I rip my hair out and weave together as many alternatives to conflict as possible. I hop, skip, jump, run around in circles and circles– a few rectangles, hexagons, back to circles, here, there, everywhere, anywhere but the conflict presented in front of me. Without it, I am thrashing against the roaring tides, recklessly gasping for any bit of air.

pause...

Patience got me to pause.

It's funny how very few things have the ability to make you pause.

We're running without realizing it. Working ourselves harder than industrial property, or maybe just like it.

I've always tried to work with the tides when things got chaotic. I certainly would not recommend working against them. But either way, I refuse to give up the notion of control. Either way, I am still asserting a level of control over the tides. What if I let go?

Would I be consumed by the tides, lost to the unwavering chaos they would ensue? Would I drown and be crushed by the ocean floor's never-ending pressure? Is my fear of losing control the only thing keeping me afloat?

Pause. Let go.

patience

When practiced, patience promises something we would otherwise lack: peace of mind. Real patience is not anxious anticipation. It's not a voice silenced by a racing heart, or a will restrained by a chaotic mind. Patience is surely a beast of its own, but it's one that comes tamed.

Patience is the hand we hold to guide us through the dark. It is the light we see from afar, or the warmth we crave in the cold. It is the stability we need when the ground shakes or the world turns upside down. It's there when we need it most, but you must first be able to invite it in. Patience is not something that requires will, but it does require letting go. 

At first, being patient in the midst of conflict feels like you're sinking. It's easy to refuse patience and rely on logic to fight your way through the tides of a tricky situation.

However, patience tells us to ease the tension finding home in our spines. It tells us to let the deep, blue ocean cushion our aching limbs. Find joy in the uncertain move of each tide, and cautiously invite them in.

It tells me to trust the fall, so I sink to the bottom of the ocean.

Here, I find patience.

At the ocean floor, I feel my thoughts swim past me like schools of fish. One after another– they may know more about me than I ever will. No matter how hard I try, I can never keep up.

We still have yet to discover the deepest parts of our ocean. The tides will crash, and you will be propelled to fight against them. But fight as you will— it'll never change your position against the force of a tide.