Out of the myriad of things I’ve had to grapple with in my life so far—how to be nice to people, learning Excel formulas, paying taxes, going on a diet (this one is still on the to-do list)—I think the greatest challenge has been my propensity to overthink. That incessant voice that insists I wait for the perfect plan before daring to act, that tells me to hesitate, to pause. If you subscribe to the Myers-Briggs personality inventory, I’m an INTJ. That T, the relentless thinker, has been both my shield and my Achilles' heel.
For me, this will be a lifelong struggle, not in a grim, Sisyphean way, but as a necessary tension. When do I need time to think? When do I have time to think? And when must I act, decisive and unflinching? These questions linger in the air whenever I’m called upon to make a choice, a move, a leap. But wrestling with them won’t guarantee immunity from mistakes. I’ll still misstep, sometimes spectacularly. The aim is not perfection; it’s momentum. Avoiding mistakes entirely would demand an immobility that renders us inert, incapable of seizing the rare opportunities life grants.
Patience, as philosophers like Schnitker suggest, isn’t mere restraint or the absence of frustration. It’s a disposition, a deliberate calmness in the face of delay, frustration, or adversity. Across cultures, patience takes on different forms: in Western societies, it is often framed as self-control and spiritual maturity, rooted in the individual’s ability to restrain desires and delay gratification. In Japanese culture, patience takes on a more collective and process-oriented form, emphasizing the acceptance of long-term efforts and the inevitability of slow progress. This perspective, embodied in the idea of ‘gaman’—to endure with dignity—offers a profound contrast to the Western notion of patience as self-mastery. By understanding these cultural nuances, we see that patience is not merely a personal trait but a reflection of societal values and philosophies. This cultural lens reminds us that patience is not a one-size-fits-all virtue, but a reflection of the values and rhythms of the societies we inhabit. It involves viewing obstacles as opportunities, a perspective that is less about resignation and more about resilience. This nuanced patience doesn’t conflict with urgency but complements it. You can act swiftly while maintaining the patience required to endure outcomes beyond your control.
Some endeavors demand repetition—the same action, the same failure, over and over until the desired result materializes. It’s maddening, yes, but necessary. Failure isn’t an end; it’s a rehearsal. And being impatient with failure doesn’t mean rejecting it but rather refusing to let it lull you into passivity. To embrace failure, one must embody courage—Aristotle’s courage—the balance between fear and recklessness, an act of endurance driven by noble purpose.
To be impatient is to embody urgency in service of your ideals. It is not carelessness. It is not recklessness. It is an alertness, a readiness to move when the moment calls. There will, of course, be moments that demand stillness. Pausing—to assess, to recalibrate—is its own form of action. But even this pause, ideally, should not be born of hesitation or fear; it should come from clarity, from resolve. To wait with purpose is vastly different from waiting out of doubt.
This balance—urgency alongside patience—requires more than instinct; it demands a perspective cultivated through experience. As Schnitker notes, patience isn’t passive; it’s a resilience that turns obstacles into opportunities. And this nuanced patience, far from opposing urgency, enhances it, allowing us to act decisively while enduring outcomes beyond our control. Together, these virtues form the framework for action—not simply to do, but to do with intention, even when failure lingers as a likely companion.
This urgency, however, is a discipline reserved for oneself. It is not for any person to demand the tempo of another’s life. We each carry our own clock, ticking in sync with our circumstances, our instincts, our pain, our purpose.
I’ve avoided prescribing how much impatience one should cultivate. Nor have I claimed to define the perfect measure of patience. These are calibrations earned through experience, through trial and error. Yet, one guiding principle holds: when no significant new information is forthcoming, that is the moment to act. To make a choice. To decide. Not the “right” decision—an impossible ideal—but a decision. Sometimes even the best decisions yield bitter outcomes. Still, we decide.
While urgency resides within, patience often meets us externally. It’s the patience to wait for the fruits of our labor. If you’re learning a skill, you must practice with urgency but wait for excellence with patience. If you’re vying for a promotion, deliver with urgency but accept the reward with patience. The world rarely moves to your tempo, but that’s no reason to abandon your rhythm.
And yet, there are moments when patience, too, must end. Not every seed takes root; not every effort bears fruit. No amount of patience can summon an outcome that simply isn’t destined. In those moments, the choice to let go, to walk away, must come swiftly, decisively. Impatience is a blade that severs futile pursuits, making space for new ones.
The threshold of patience lies not in reason but in cause. By "cause," I mean the external events, signals, or changes that suggest progress or potential—a spark, a shift, an indication that something—anything—might yet happen. Unlike reason, which is internally constructed and often influenced by our fears or desires, cause is grounded in observable reality. It’s the moment when the world gives you a nudge, when circumstances align just enough to suggest it’s time to act. As Bommarito points out, perspective isn’t simply knowledge; it’s a way of experiencing the world. This experience of cause is deeply personal, shaped by our unique interpretations and contexts, even in seemingly identical situations.
So, be impatient with your actions but patient for their results. Recognize that endurance, forbearance, and perseverance—the hallmarks of patience—aren’t passive states but active virtues, cultivated through mindfulness and reflection. And when impatience overtakes you where it shouldn’t, or patience anchors you where it ought not, grant yourself grace. We are all, after all, first-timers here, stumbling our way forward in search of a rhythm that feels like our own.