who has time to be patient?

My husband and i recently spent two weeks in Japan.  I love travel because it opens me up in ways that only virgin experiences do; I was touched and awe struck and forever changed.  

Because of an extremely low rate of immigration, Japan appears to be a homogeneous culture, outwardly marked in part by a respect for rules and civility.  This shows up, by way of example, as lining up on the subway platform and letting everyone out before you step in, even on a very busy Monday morning commute; the greater good is served this way. This shows up by having no public trash receptacles in all of Tokyo and Kyoto; you create trash, you carry it until you get home.  Recycling is mandatory and taken quite seriously; you do not want your neighbor to shame you for a dirty bottle in the bin.  The streets are clean because they are part of everyone’s lived and living environment; there is a conscious tending to all public spaces that creates a sense of safety, beauty, civility.

This also shows up as everyone waiting on the street corner until the little red flashing walk light turns green, even if no cars are coming on the street you plan to cross. Simply, waiting. Phone-gazing twenty-somethings, older adults, color-coded-backpacked children making their way to school - they all wait for the “go.” No one crosses on red. No one. 

One of the buddhist frameworks I have always loved are the paramitas, often translated as the “ten perfections of the heart.” They are generally described in Buddhist commentaries as noble character qualities whose “perfection” is generally associated with enlightened beings.  

I am not seeking Buddhahood, simply a more loving and open heart and a less maladapted nervous system. 

Skillful practice, the teachings say, with internal behaviors like generosity, determination, equanimity and patience, can lead to a heart and body more at ease, less dis-eased.  

Despite being on vacation, no meetings to attend or a strict schedule to adhere to, for me, waiting at that red flashing light, when no cars were coming, brought out all the behaviors of a very impatient, and frankly,  unhappy, human. 

“Why wait when there are no cars coming?” I beseeched my husband.  

“What are you rushing to?” he wondered.

“Why waste time standing at the corner when there is so much else to see?” I replied.

There I was, that first time the flashing red light brought up irritation and unpleasant discourse between my loving husband and me, restless on what turned out to be a gorgeous intersection in Tokyo, on the sunniest of days, wanting to be somewhere else. 

“Patience, by definition, can only be present in response to a visiting stress,” says Sylvia Boorstein in her book, Pay Attention, For Goodness Sake, a wonderful accessible book about the paramitas.  “Wanting other than what’s happening is suffering.  We could choose not to hurry, not to miss the moment, not to miss our lives.  We could abide. “ 

Aah, the moment of remembering.  

Aah, the skill of abiding, of being with.  

“Patience is born when we create a pause between our experience of a feeling and our response to that feeling,” Allan Lokos, a buddhist practitioner and spiritual teacher writes. “Forgiveness has space to develop; fires have a chance to cool.” 

At that very corner, there was a ginkgo tree, one of my favorites, fully in bloom.  The United States embassy was across the street and a young Japanese soldier was standing guard in front of the iron fence, the only person not looking at their phone.  A little girl, who couldn’t have been more than 7 years old, solo on the corner carrying an overstuffed “red for 2nd grade” rectangular backpack nearly the same size as her, was to my left.  My husband, my favorite traveling partner, was to my right, and when I stopped to really look at him, a wave of gratitude came over me, the size of the giant bamboo I would see the next day.  Japan - we made it!  Here we are! 

My habit of impatience, of not wanting to wait for the light to change, or in lines, or in traffic actually creates distress in me.  The tightness I feel of not wanting to wait, of wanting to get out of what feels unpleasant, actually turns on an anger response and makes me feel in fight mode - it’s me versus whatever is “slowing me down.” Impatience creates disharmony in my experience, increasing adrenaline and other non-calming chemical responses.  

Moments of waking up are like this. I remember that things are changing all the time and all things will end.  I remember my feet on the ground and that I am in a body.  I remember the actual moment I am in, the only one I ever have.  I remember I am a part of something much bigger than me - and that what I do matters.  “Inter-being” as Thich Nhat Hanh calls it.  

“Patience,” Sylvia reminds us “is more the quiet moment to moment adjustment to unpleasant circumstances done in the knowledge that they cannot be other.  It is wisdom. Patience depends on remembering that everything is always changing, so the current, unavoidable challenge will eventually end.”  “When we choose something else,” she goes on to say, “we can create a calmer heart, not a more constricted experience.”  

At every intersection, I practiced.  I felt impatient every time.  But, the small shift in me, the remembering to notice the moment, my body, the place, the surroundings - instead of living with and enduring the negative effects of the habitual frustration response after waiting even one second too long - my experience was actually much sweeter.  

It’s my choice in the end.  Patience resides in me as an unlimited resource.  All things will end.  How do I want to experience every moment?