Patience

"Patience is a virtue" is one of the oldest of old adages. I remember my grandmother, the queen of old adages, saying this. I remember my parents saying it. I remember teachers saying it. Of course, I also remember my grandmother saying, "For the Land's sake!" And "Is that a diamond on the end of your nose? No, it's snot." And, in her dotage, mistaking me for her younger brother.

Must be a virtue I don't have.

Now there are many things that masquerade as patience. Fear is the chief among them: I don't want to fight the fellow who horned into line ahead of me, so I'll let it ride. I don't look forward to this discussion with my spouse about money, or spending, or about how the laundry is sorted, so it can wait or I'll adjust. My job sucks, but there's not much out there.

Things set aside from fear, while they may look like patience, tend to fester. They either show up at the wrong time, as when the laundry issue explodes out of context during family Christmas ("White Christmas? You wouldn't know from whites!"), or they turn into something else, such as a sudden fondness for the local German brewpub (yes, by God, Menomonie has a brewpub with a German-trained brewmaster who brews some kick-ass beers), or they lead to general shutdowns, such as a pronounced fondness for naps. While I love naps and sleeping, and sometimes list them as hobbies, there are times that they carry a whiff of depression, and caring observers may wish to intervene in some gentle fashion. Please consult with my dog and my cat for gentle but effective ways to wake me up, usually 20 minutes before the alarm goes off.
They can lead to acceptance of conditions in the workplace that might in less parlous times lead one to the exit.

Lack of concern or interest may also look like patience. "I really think this color of drapes would look better in here than these old ones." Yeah, sure. As long as they keep the sun from screwing up the game on the plasma, what the hell. Er, I mean, "of course, I think you're onto something there. We've been talking about drapes for years." Or, "I'd like to join this club that meets Thursday evenings at 7." OK, that's when my favorite show is on and you hate it. You could go to the brothel for all I care. Er, "that sounds nice. You've been saying you need an activity."

Total ignorance is one of the sadder substitutes that can pass for patience. Mine lasted for only an hour, but I remember 9/11/2001, when for an hour or so after the tragedies began unfolding, I wouldn't have advocated any reaction. Because I had no clue what was happening. I was listening to a rock station, and the last thing I heard was the closing verse of the Doors' "Roadhouse Blues": "woke up this mornin', and I got myself a beer. Well,I woke up this mornin' and I got myself a beer. The future's uncertain and the end is always near." Then I walked into work and heard that hell had come up to the surface.

Another sad mimic is a sense of helplessness, of powerlessness. "So what can I do?" "Who can stop this from happening?" They'll do it anyway. It's the way things are. Shit happens. Life's a bitch and then you die. Patience and resignation can look quite a bit alike. I can absorb this blow because I have to.

Real patience is an expression of confidence, of power. "I can let this happen because of what can be learned, because they need to go through it..." I can absorb this because when it's over, my position and everyone else's will be better. I can wait through this because the end result will be that. I can wait for you because if and when you figure it out, you'll be here with me.

Or, as in the current turmoil, the fix will not be quick, and it won't happen without everyone helping, but we can fix it. We just need diligence, time, and, uh, patience.