I’m not a patient person.
I hate waiting in lines.
I can’t stand growing any sort of planting because I don’t like how it takes so long to see the fruits of my labor.
I don’t like how long the year is because I have to wait 9 months for each season to come back around again.
I’m not a patient person. However, I have gotten considerably better at enjoying the waiting period. The more that I write, the more I have learned to be patient with myself and let the words come when they may. I can always write something, even if it just be my thoughts, but even I have to wait for a particularly inspiring passage to spring from the tips of my fingers onto the keys (I know, control your shock that not everything that flows from my mind onto the screen in literary genius).
What I’m trying to say is this: now that I have fully acknowledged my inner writer, I have noticed that it is much easier for me to wait on things. While I used to grow irritated by someone who took so long to speak, I now realize that they are getting their thoughts in order and meticulously poring through a mental thesaurus to make sure that they are using the correct word in order to get across the correct meaning. As a writer, I understand the importance of saying what you mean. While I used to grow annoyed whenever I stood in a line, it dawns upon me now that I am standing in a line because there is a certain procedure that needs to be followed. Like a writer setting up a scene or beginning a passage of dialogue, there is always a particular method that needs be obeyed.
There are aspects of being a writer that I never knew would have an impact on my life (such as noticing details, watching people develop over time like characters and realizing why people act the way they do, using a broader vocabulary in order to communicate your exact meaning), but I never expected patience to be one of them. I will have to keep this writing gig up so that I can continue to see development in my own behavior over an extended period of time.
There’s only one problem.