Practicing Patience

There are few things more annoying than a traffic jam. Even a small one. Perhaps just one car slow off the mark when the light turns green.

You know the old definition of a New York Minute – the time it takes for the guy behind you to blow his horn if you don't move when you're supposed to. Well, when you get to a certain age, things either speed up or you slow down. I suspect the latter.

So rather than flip my lid at minor disturbances I “practice patience.” It's a technique my wife suggested I try rather than fret, fidget and fume behind the wheel.

To implement the “method” when faced with a frustrating moment, I actually say out loud “I am going to practice patience.” Then I slow my breathing and wait, and wait, and wait. Eventually whatever is causing my annoyance is resolved and we move on.

Do I feel virtuous for having momentarily conquered my natural impatience? Not entirely. As I move on a careful listener can still hear me muttering unprintable comments about the driver or drivers in front of me.

But I do practice although my patience is not always perfect.