Getting Back Up On the Horse That Threw You

Note (for friends who read the bulk of this essay on Facebook in February): I've made a few adjustments, including a new ending.

We've all heard the saying, "patience is a virtue."  But what is patience and why is it such a variable commodity in most of our lives?  

One definition (www.audioenglish.net/dictionary/patience.htm) describes patience as "a good-natured tolerance of delay or incompetence."

Despite the occasional upset or gripe about pain or the ongoing challenge of having to repeat myself when I don't have the energy to spare, I believe I have had great patience coping with a chronic debilitating illness (reference ME/CFS, et al).  Mostly because what finally disabled me has been with me most of my life and impatience with it (or how other people responded to the inconvenience of accommodating my needs) would only have added to my suffering.  Taking a detached view, I see the human body as a variably gifted vessel. My patience with illness comes in part by my being thankful to my body for working so diligently on my behalf.

This has been a pretty huge lesson in patience.

Why then do I still struggle so much with impatience when it comes to certain areas of my life?

I have difficulty using my hands to do small things.  Or I should say I have difficulty translating instructions so that my hands can do the task "at hand."  Knitting is fine activity unless I attempt to go beyond beginner status.  I have a feeling that if someone else had the patience to show me the skills needed in a step by step manner to move beyond beginner patterns, I might be able to learn the steps, though doing them to achieve a result might be another matter.  Why is this?

Why when confronted with installing a GFI socket do I become frustrated before I even begin?  Is it just that some things come easier for me?  And if so, what's wrong with that?  Why can't I just do what comes easy to me?  Isn't that a measure of where my abilities, and therefore potential talents, lie?  Perhaps what comes easy to me is what I am really interested in.  

Could patience have more to do with one's particular gifts--the ability to develop various talents?

I mean, my philosophical and spiritual views about life make illness more tolerable for me than many chronically ill people I've met.  I've never thought "Why me?"  I've always thought, "Why not me?" because anything that befalls any human can ultimately befall us; we are part and parcel of all that is.

And I have always had the patience to write (on the computer) and edit for hours on end (if my mind is working well enough to do it).  I'm literally good natured about it.

I wish things coming easy was truly the measure of our interests.  

But the fact is, I'd like to move beyond the beginner status in knitting.  And I desperately want to become handy around the house.

In fact, I am bound and determined to build a closet system from scratch for my guest bedroom.  It may take me a few weeks given my limited energy, which I hope will help teach me patience, but I want to do this for myself.  Not only do I not want to be held hostage to inferior, flimsy products on the market (products in my price range) or have to pay a skilled carpenter to make me something out of solid wood, I sincerely want to become handy.  I want to make built in book cases.  Repair my toilets and sinks.  Change out door knobs.  Repair decking.  Install flooring.

When I was younger, I wanted to become a carpenter and also build my own furniture out of my own designs, but I was sensitive to chemicals and so it made sense to me to pursue other interests.  Now, however, formaldehyde is being used less and all paint will likely be VOC free one day soon.  If I'm ever going to learn to be handy, the time is now.

I think my problems with fine motor skills and translating written instructions from my brain to my hands has to do with a host of learning disabilities.  From Asperger's, ADD, spatial issues, dyscalculia, dysgraphia... to who knows what.  I was late in learning how to tie my shoes.  I cannot use a brush and a blow dryer at the same time.  It's painful for me to write more than a paragraph or two (or even paint my nails) and it doesn't take long for my handwriting to become illegible (thank goodness for computers).  While I enjoy cleaning, I have to be extremely careful not to cause more of a mess than I started with due to an ever present partner: clumsiness and poor proprioception (we won't even talk about the dents I've put in my skull working about the house--see Knowing How to Fall, and Knowing How to Fall - Part 2).

Indeed some of the most frustrating moments of my life have been the result of my trying to use my hands--from the art of washing dishes, where I might crash a plate into the double sink divider or faucet, to bed making, where I might accidentally jam a finger.  

Perhaps this is why I love gardening.  It's messy and inexact, and there's usually not anything I can hit my head on or jam my hand into.  Gardening does not require precision to have a beautiful end result.  And the best part is: I get to use my hands.  I want to use these hands of mine because I like to produce things that last.  I like beauty; I want to participate in the making of it.

As much as I wish I could easily translate things from the written word or picture form into work for my hands, I have to admit to myself that this is extremely difficult for me.  I have to finally admit that for the most part I need hands-on, step-by-step instruction by someone with patience for someone with learning disabilities.  

As soon as energy allows, I plan to investigate the various skill building classes that Lowe's or Home Depot might have for their customers.  I am hoping that with one small success after another, with a little confidence, I can develop the patience needed to work with the clumsy paws that pass for hands.

Until then, I will forbear from throwing hissy fits.

When I first explored the idea of patience/impatience in a Facebook note shared (most of what is found above) with my Facebook friends, my friend Omrum had this to say about the issue: "I've noticed that once you accept things as they are, patience is already there.  Impatience has to do with having expectations--from others or from the self."

Omrum's observation makes sense to me and explains the moments or periods of impatience when it comes to my coping with physical illness as well.  Anyone who's been chronically, debilitatingly ill knows that acceptance of one's condition can wax and wane.  For long periods, I can rest in the calm that accepting both my condition and the limitations brings.  Then, suddenly, I find myself caught on the edge of despair (non-acceptance of what is) while wondering "How did I get from there to here?"

The waxing and waning of acceptance is no doubt true for most of us when it comes to coping with any big ticket item in life (life's greatest challenges, with disability being just one of them).  The moment we think we've arrived, we're starting over.

In the end, patience like all other virtues is a practice.  A horse we get up on every day even if we were thrown the day before.  We look to our successes and we examine our failures for clues how to go forward, and we try again.  We're human, we practice, we're all works in progress.

Addendum: When I wrote this essay, I had hoped that I might feel well enough to build the closet system.  Granted, the hope was not realistic given my state of health at the time.  And so, I hired someone with construction experience to build it for me; he did a great job (thank you Carroll).