Variable patience

Sometimes I've got it and sometimes I don't

photo by Ben Elliot

There are certain ‘crimes’ I find hard to forgive. In other moments, I surprise myself with equanimity towards offenses that once would have had me howling from the darkest depths of my victimhood.

Sometimes my patience runs short. Other times it feels deeply anchored.

Why?

Sometimes, in the very same moment that my temper flares, a neon sign lights up in my mind that says, “your temper is flaring!”

While lashing out feels justified, this signal gives me pause. If only for a moment, I wonder if there is a larger well of creativity that I might still draw upon. I don’t always find it, but in these moments I will, at least, go looking for it. I blink at least once to refresh my view of what I think is true right now.

Other times, my neon sign reads, “God is on your side!”

I interpret the boiling of my blood as proof - that the majority of souls in this universe would see things just the way I do and they would bless my hostility if I chose to act on it. The traffic light turns green and my foot moves to the accelerator.

Sometimes the light remains green even after I have wounded my sister or brother. Their pain might be regrettable, but, after all, “they started it!”

On paper, I could make proposals about which “offenses” can be pardoned and which ones should always be condemned. In practice, I discover that sometimes I demonstrate the capacity to choose my actions and sometimes I don’t.

Sometimes I only discover this difference in the moment. It’s only after the dust has cleared that I can learn how I might respond differently next time. But I don’t always learn. In this moment too, I discover the limits of my patience:

Am I willing to find out if I’m wrong?
Am I willing to FEEL wrong?
Am I willing to update my way of seeing and being?

If I regret the consequences of my actions, I may conclude that I am morally defective or, at least, incompetent. My brother is innocent (or if I still blame him, his sin was only that he exposed my shortcomings). I am the true criminal, the primary target of my own attack, the defendant on trial.

Yet whether I blame him or not, either way, I close down the space between us, either to avoid my brother’s exposure to me or mine to him.

Yet there is different form of regret that still makes room for my curiosity.

What IF I had made a different choice?
What IF this same situation repeats tomorrow?
If I could respond differently, how would I need to alter my posture ahead of time, before the “moment of truth” arrives?
What quality of presence would allow me hear dissonance without forfeiting my agency?

When my sister speaks tomorrow, what is the space of listening into which she will speak?
Will I clean my slate ahead of time?
Or will I bring six tally marks against her and weigh her words in that imbalance?

I know of saintly people who have forgiven the killers of their closest kin. I know of impetuous personalities that throw punches at the slightest slight. If I’m honest, my potential traverses this entire terrain. After all, like them, I’m human.

Now, after everything that’s happened - all the traumas I survived, all the lessons I learned, all the intentions I set or forgot - here I am again, facing a world that doesn’t behave as I wish, facing another human being who does not behave as I wish.

What posture do wish to bring to this moment?

How I relate to my impatience - with others as well as myself - has been a long-term process. I had to be patient to conquer the patience that I now possess. I had to get relentless with my kindness towards the impatient part of myself. I had to understand exactly why it made so much sense to me that patience felt impossible - without making myself wrong - and yet still be unwilling to let myself off the hook.

I’ll be sharing this approach in the Relentless Kindness workshop next week (Tuesday 1/27 at 1pm EST & Thursday 1/29 at 7:30pm EST). I’ll be guiding meditative, contemplative and somatic processes and leaving plenty of space for your questions.