The perfection of patience, consideration and listening

The quote got my attention. “Patience: allowing someone to be imperfect.”   

I had a crank of a day yesterday. I was fighting a sinus infection and not feeling that great. When my husband, in our morning conversation, huffily said I'd better get an accountant for my children's book coming out this spring, and added, “I don't need another job.” That lit the fire. I didn't say anything right then, but the fire smoked all day. My goal to live life unoffendable was ash.  

And when he went to the store later, unbeknownst to me, and didn’t bring home any Kleenex, which I was nearly out of — using one a minute — and I'd said earlier that we needed some, then everything really blew. No pun planned — sometimes they just happen. 

How did all this get resolved? I finally told him what I was mad about. He wanted to go back into town to the store for the Kleenex. That seemed outrageous. I practically blocked the door. But then I saw that he didn't mind — he cared that I was sick and he truly wanted to help. I moved out of the way. He brought home two boxes, and I didn't forget to say thank you. 

I apologized for being a crank. I said about the accountant matter, “You've been very supportive all the way through this book project.” He explained that when he gets paperwork ready for taxes next year, he didn't want to have to keep track of all my book expenses. I was never intending that. Later that night he apologized again. I said, “Hey, it's gone — a thing of the past.”  

Interesting that one of the characters in my book is named Crank. He has a life lesson to learn. I'd better go back and reread my own story. Really, how can you argue with that interpretation of impatience — not allowing others to be imperfect. They talk too much or not enough, they're inconsiderate, they move too fast or too slow they're forgetful, they pay no attention, they're clumsy or they're bossy — the list is as long as there are people. 

Isn't it accurate to say I become impatient when someone else is not meeting my expectations — which amounts to my standard of being perfect. Impatience does nobody any good. It stresses; it criticizes; it belittles. It lets that person know they have failed — all while my blood pressure scales Mt Everest. 

We all know how good that feels — to have been less than perfect in another's eyes and made aware of it — politely, or otherwise. I'm not sure there is such a thing as polite impatience. 

Everyone needs guiding, correcting or reminding at times. But when that pinch of impatience is added, it alters the whole chemistry — making it “not okay” to be imperfect.  

I'm not there yet on patience. Obviously yesterday was a total dive. Terry and I both were our imperfect selves. We pulled out of it — through explaining, apology and consideration. Because imperfect people do get it right sometimes.