For people like me, waiting around for stuff is the worst kind of poison.
Like dying slowly from an abdominal stab wound, only with slightly less pain.
You lie awake and think, what more can I possibly do?
When it finally happens, will it hurt?
Where will I end up, when all this is over?
And why can’t it be my choice how I shuffle off this mortal coil? Or end a relationship, quit a job, whatever. This is supposed to be an analogy, right?
Why can’t I rig myself up with helium-filled balloons and float away magestically, while blasting Aerosmith through a bullhorn?
Why can’t I be the action flick hero, diving off the edge of the building mere seconds before it explodes behind me?
Or defusing the atomic warhead with only nanoseconds to spare?
Why can’t I be the person who lives fast and dies hard?
Why does my life instead feel like it’s being directed by some angsty French guy?
“Patience is a virtue.” Bull**it, I say. Patience is NOT a virtue. It’s a lie.
Patience is nothing more than a term we have chosen to ameliorate the inevitable and depressing realization that we have no control over what happens to us.
Patience is what happens when your body passes out from being tortured for too long.
Patience is giving up.
I say we as adults, as a group, abandon the idea of patience altogether. Forget forbearance. Screw serenity.
Let’s embrace the inner child and say NO. ME. NOW.
Or, as Bill Murray once famously quoth in the film “What About Bob?”: “GIMME, GIMME, GIMME. I WANT. I NEED.”
Let’s stop asking “what more can I do” and throw a damn tantrum. Let’s be impatient. Let’s take things that don’t belong to us, and go places without asking for permission, and create situations that force us to live harder and grow faster.
Instead of wonderers, let’s be warriors. Let’s tear sh** up. Then build it all over again, but like, way more awesome.