Patience

On my way home tonight, I stopped off at the post office to mail a letter. I was prepared, knowing where my letter was going, knowing the location of the post office, and the proper etiquette once there. This is the grace of doing something for the second time: the quiet confidence that previous experience provides. I walked into the post office only to find a very long line and only one open desk. Sigh. I found myself in line and began to wait. I waited. And I waited some more.

Lines are long here. They were in Portugal as well. But, the wait is inconsequential. No one was frustrated in the line at the post office. No tapping of the toe nor sighing. Only the calm of patience. I’m beginning to wonder what our rush in the United States is all about.
Most errands, and life as a whole, are done on foot. My senora has this fancy looking cart that holds an impressive amount. While I briefly had an “urban dweller” experience, and a cart to prove it, it was a phase for me. Here, it is a way of life. My senora has been loading up her cart, running her errands to the nearby stores for over a quarter of a century. It invariably takes longer than expected. Running into someone you know or pausing to look in at a store’s window display are apart of the journey. Nothing can be done quickly. Never can one say, “I’ll just be a minute.” No, everything takes longer than expected.

And how freeing it is! One is never hurried or frazzled in that “I’m going to kill anyone who gets in front of me” way. Yes, of course people find themselves crunched for time or running behind, but they take it in stride. The world will still be rotating if they arrive a bit late.

Really, though, it isn’t as if people are habitually late. They leave early. They build some grace time into their commute. And so, with a few extra minutes, they experience a time to stop and take in their surroundings, gather their thoughts (or actually think some thoughts!), or simply rest.

In those extra moments of waiting, one notices. At the post office, the woman in front of me clutched the package she was to send with excitement. The husband behind me was a bit perturbed at his wife. The woman at the counter smiled and looked me in the eye, despite the solid 15-minute line waiting.

It was civil (Dare I say pleasant?) to wait in that line. Not a chore or a bore, and no frustration to be seen.

I noticed an American news headline today. A mother of two will be imprisoned for throwing a glass of ice at another car in a fit of road rage. Contrasted with my everyday encounters of waiting, I’m wondering if impatience breeds impatience. And, if it does, how does one combat against the status quo short temper and embrace a bit more grace and patience? Is all our anger and exertion worth the perceived time we recoup?

As I walked out of the post office, I noticed a man and a woman outside of their parked car. Blocked in by a double parking job, the man shrugged his shoulders at the woman, and they leaned against the car door. Nothing they could do but wait.

I smiled incredulously at their patience as I walked past them.