My old laptop has slowed down; getting an item I clicked on to open takes forever, or so it seems. In the midst of a written sentence, it unexpectedly freezes. Oddly, whether I want to press or try something impatiently to get it running, it remains that way, mockingly. But I can go back and start typing if I leave it alone for a while.
Then it happens again after a while. I think I'm going insane as I feel that my helplessness seems to amuse me with this matter. And now I'm dreaming about it. Here I go: "Come on, come on!" Initially, especially when I'm in the middle of writing an article or survey.
It's not helping. Sure. Of course.
Like me, most individuals do not like to wait quietly, less agitatedly—or cultivate the level of patience that this entails.
f you look closely, you will find that much of our waiting less than patient is tangled with wishes, such as "I want this line to move faster," or "I wish the weather would be cooler or warmer," "I wish she would phone soon." Standing in line, trapped in traffic, put on hold, waiting to see the doctor, waiting for a letter or package in the post, or waiting for a friend who is late-our reaction is our response. And heightened tension.
This is not ideal for us, we realize, but the lack of control is a strong source of discomfort, and the fact that we can do nothing just strengthens it instead of preventing our jitteriness!
It's just too annoying to wait, so challenging. In general, waiting goes against the feeling of busyness that dominates our lives these days; we have somehow bought into the illusion that it is worthwhile when we achieve or accomplish something. We think of waiting as something passive, of no use whatsoever.
But now I have decided to engage with the notion that I have recently come across—of waiting to be more involved, and as 'a room into which we are guided.' What, I thought, was that room going to hold?
I just decided a week ago to wait as my laptop seemed to be happy to taunt me; to breathe softly and read slowly through what I had already written, and this kind of backward look encouraged my mind to shift in ways that helped my work. I should be at peace and open to fresh and more revolutionary concepts.
An old novel, first published in 1892, that I discovered by Anna C Brackett in a used book shop, "The Technique of Rest," made me laugh out loud at her scolding advice: "When you wait for a train, don't always look to see if it's coming." The time of its arrival is the conductor's business, not yours. For all your anxious glances and your hurried pacing, it won't come any sooner, and you'll conserve power if you stay still. We have a vital bit of wisdom that we can not hesitate to bring to practical use after we learn that the people who are already sitting on a long train trip meet the journey's conclusion at exactly the same time as those who continuously fuss.
Waiting can be a fresh and valuable experience to build if we can turn our mindset around.