Making Pancakes, Pysanky, and Other Object Lessons on Patience
Sometimes when you’re a quiet person, people falsely attribute various virtues to you. A teacher once said, in reference to me, “Still waters run deep” and all I could think of was that quote: “Tis better to be silent and be thought a fool, than to speak and remove all doubt." I knew enough to keep my mouth shut so that I could continue to be erroneously thought a serious person. Similarly, I think most people would consider me a patient person. I’m quiet, and usually pretty nice and polite, and can sit and wait with the best of them. But does that mean I’m patient? I set out this week to find out! Here’s what prompted this soul searching:
Last Saturday I went to a pysanky making class. If you don’t feel like googling that word, you can see my class’s efforts in the photo above —it’s a very old traditional Ukrainian practice of dyeing eggs. This was my second time taking the workshop (the last one being two years ago) but I am still not very good at it. As I was going along, drawing on my egg with melted wax to the best of my ability, the instructor said, “Don’t feel like you have to go so fast. Be patient!” This confused me, as I was not aware that I was going fast. But she was the teacher, so I did my best to listen and to slow down…but I’m not sure how much good it did. I ended up a bit frustrated by how my egg turned out (even though I enjoyed the class), and decided to spend the week reflecting on this lack of patience. As it turns out, my impatience does indeed bubble up all the time.
It’s in little things, like how I always walk “with purpose”—words I use to describe my pace preference when I get a little cranky at having to wait for my husband on walks, as he is an absolute ambler. It’s in big things, like how restless and angry I get that we aren’t able to accomplish more right now to stop what’s happening to our country. It’s the way I check on the tulips and daffodils every day—sometimes multiple times a day—to spot the first flower. Sometimes the anticipation is good, and leads to greater excitement, as when the first burst of color bursts forth (hopefully any damn day now) in my garden. However, my restlessness often gets in the way of the process, like when I try to make pancakes.
I have gotten a lot better at cooking over the last few years, but I still recognize that one of my greatest weaknesses in the kitchen is with my impatience, knotted up with my ever-present insecurity. I worry that I’m not doing something right, and I need to do things differently, and then I rush and skip a step or spill or mis-measure something in my haste, or flip my pancakes too early. If you’ve ever flipped pancakes too early, you know you end up with a big ol’ mess. Usually my solution is to make waffles instead, not only because they’re inherently better with their convenient little squares to pocket the syrup, but also because I love that little light on my waffle maker that insists I wait until things are ready for me to take action. How perfect.
With those object lessons in mind, I’ve been musing on how I could install a metaphorical waffle maker light in my heart. (Sometimes I am intentionally terrible at metaphor.) I want to do this because, as I’ve reflected on my impatient ways this week, I’ve realized that they cause so many problem. Naturally, I’m more anxious and irritable, and what is worse, in my desire to work to ensure our future is a better one, I have lost a lot of my ability to live in the present moment. I understand that sometimes calls to “be present” can come across as a bit too earnest, but I’m still inclined to think they’re on to something. As important as it is to keep up with the news, when I try to limit my screen time and doomscrolling, I am able to make more room for other things. I instead end up playing a weird mushroom-themed card game with my daughter, or reading a good book, or practicing banjolele, or watching a PBS show on Chopin—and the tightness in my chest loosens, I feel truly happy for a while, and more importantly, I’m reminded a little of the good things we’re fighting for. I am still going to follow the big stories of the day, of course, but this week I have really learned the value of balancing that with times of quiet joy. What I have realized the past few days is that after I pursue that balance, I can then tackle the “next good thing” I need to do in the world with more patience and purpose than I had before.
I’m teaching the Upper Elementary bible class this week, and the story of Palm Sunday reminds me a lot of recent events. The procession of this day, with its joy and excited anticipation, seems a lot like how it felt going to a protest last weekend. Then after the thrill of that fades, we’re left to continue on our path of confusion and struggles against the evils in this world and all that joy seems so distant. When we look ahead to Holy Week, as I told the kids, we’ll see in the stories how difficult it is to be patient and to understand why things have to be the way they are. I am certainly still in the middle of that struggle in the US right now, and have no easy answers, even as I make efforts to find balance in my own life. As I come to the end of this essay, I realize I have more thoughts on this topic as we lead into Easter. I’m saving those for next Sunday’s post.
You’ll just have to be patient.
