Wherever You Go, There You Are, by Jon Kabat-Zinn

I have a confession: I want to be a very good writer.

For years I have attempted to become good at many different things. I still do: I pick up an instrument, or decide to learn a language. As soon as the novelty of doing something new wears off, I put it down. When I’m trying to get close to someone, I want us to already be best friends. If I’m dating someone, I want us to already be deeply in love.

I’m impatient to be better now. I don’t want to practice my instrument for thousands of hours, listening to squeaks. I don’t want to learn how to manage boundaries or learn more about the other person. I want to be good at it now.

Impatience is uncomfortable because dissonance is uncomfortable. I think that I should be good at writing without putting in any work. Then, when I write, I see that I am not good. I want it to be this way, but instead it’s that way.

Impatience is one of the worst traits I can imagine. It’s a sort of shallow anger combined with laziness, all born of deep arrogance. I’m such a big deal. Why can’t anyone else see that?

Patience allows me to not expect greatness from myself and clearing that expectation makes room for actual learning. It allows me to enjoy the process that makes up most of my life. It’s what keeps me going when there seems…