The World’s Most Impatient Man

“Is he always like that?”

The contractor turns to my wife inquisitively, with a slight betrayal of annoyance. We are in our kickoff meeting and he’s getting a sense of the kind of person that he’ll be dealing with for the next five months, that’s if all goes to plan.

In one continuous motion, I had scooped an item from our counter, placed it in the trash, noticed the trash was full, lifted the bag out, and exited the house with it over my shoulder. Meanwhile, the two other adults were still carrying on. 

“Yes. He is always like that,” sighed the wife…

In my defense, he did say “that’s everything on my checklist” so I assumed we were all done here. Yet the other two continued to chat away as if I had missed something. My brain, as it does, had already switched to another thing entirely. The thought never occurs to me that others want you to, as I would define it, loiter in their presence. What would be the point of that?

As long as I can remember, I have struggled to sit still. This is excellent for step challenges, of which I am undefeated. If you are looking for moments of real substance, however, they are hard to come by. There’s something I’m in a hurry for, I just haven’t figured out specifically what that is yet. Everyone around me seems to interpret this behavior as impatience. There might be evidence to support such claims.

I once owned every position on our company leaderboard for daily “rage clicks” within our software. What is a rage click, you ask? That’s when you click a button, and instead of waiting to see what the system does next, you click again to make it go faster. And again and again and again. You get the point. It isn’t a marker for stoicism.

I wake up way too early on vacation, asking what everyone thinks of my already in-progress itinerary. Give me a party - I will undoubtedly find a way to leave it early. The same goes for sporting events and concerts. Why would you wait in all that traffic just to see the most important part? And, by the way, don’t forget your pee bottles because we aren’t stopping on the way home.

Ever increasing conveniences of modernity only serve to worsen the affliction. If I’m speeding along and I don’t like the song that is playing, I can skip it. Entire commutes turn up fruitless. Quick cut YouTube videos teach you how to fix anything, so I ignore instructions entirely. On a quest to complete as many books as possible each year, I chug through them at double speed, having someone read them to me as I do another thing, always another thing. I am no doctor, but this feels like the kind of story usually punctuated by a cardiac extravaganza. 

The whole point of transitioning to a stay home dad role was to make the most of the rapidly shrinking window where my children might actually find me endearing. Stepping away from work was supposed to slow things down, allowing space to chill a bit. I was gonna figure out how to be the cool, sitcom-worthy parent for once. A hammock was strung up with intent.

My transition did not in fact bring me closer to those expectations. As I worked through an eye-opening amount of laundry and prepped dinners in perpetuity, whatever zen-like qualities I was hoping to embody did not immediately spring forth. I resolved to schedule activities that would get me out of the house - breaking up the repetition while adding a much needed social element.

Golf, though often suggested for relaxation, is in actuality a few short moments of hitting a ball and four hours of not. Watching the group ahead do every single thing slower than I would have done it - that felt more like torture than than something you do for fun. Instead of a traditional eighteen, I started going for a wide open par three course that only took me twenty one minutes to complete. That left space in the day to blast through more enriching activities. 

How about volunteerism? A bunch of headlines I’ve scanned over the years teased the health benefits of serving others. I could find a cause, jump in with two feet, and immediately get to making the world a better place. Then obviously I would be better for it. Win-win.

There was a food pantry operation right smack in the middle of our triangle of convenience as I like to call it. It had been around a while, feeding people in our community for many years. Maybe I could jump in and take on a leadership role.

After putting out some initial feelers, it was made politely clear that the food pantry in question was already a well-oiled machine. They were not currently seeking an ex-startup guy who was eager to remove all the existing friction in their processes. 

With my dreams of disrupting hunger spoiled, I moved along to other passions. Let’s go with trails! Me and the dog love a good path through nature. Why not push for more of them? I pulled that thread, got to the part where government cooperation was required, and promptly found excuses to tell people.

Months passed. My daily step count continued to climb. I was driving the loop as we say in the business, moving children about in our triangle of convenience when I saw an enormous line of cars wrapped around the block. This would be odd for the early hour, except that it was the food pantry again, out there doing its thing every two weeks rain or shine.

This particular sighting, I was five self-help books deep and it was only mid-January. Seemed like as good a time as ever to do a hard thing. I decided to show up at the next distribution event and see what happened.

The parking lot was already buzzing when I showed up that morning. An assembly line was springing to life as countless rolling bins emerged from storage to be placed in their designated stations. Every face on the team was warm and friendly, looking a lot less stressed than I felt. Because a former coworker recognized me, I was tasked with handing out drinks to each recipient from a grab-bag assortment. Shopping carts full of fizzy water, sugar free sodas and plain old water sat before me - to be given away until they were completely gone, just like every other offering today.

My rather simple footprint was sandwiched between diaper mountains and tables full of what could best be described as the stuff about to expire from local deli departments. Down the way was a final and most anticipated stop for toilet paper, produce, bread, desserts and meat. Numbered carts at this station sat in a line, full of color-coded sacks and ready to be loaded. In a few minutes, these would be moved at scale into trunks and backseats. My quick introduction to them was through the vein of “please stay out of their way.”

I stuck to my specific area. As official start time approached, I wanted to do anything I could to get ahead of the impending rush. Attempts at pre-sorting a bunch of cans on a slanted table grew frantic and sloppy. Meanwhile, the first vehicle in line sat just a few feet away with the window rolled down. Nobody had given me an indication that we were supposed to be out there talking to anyone. I chased a few more sugar free cream soda across the freezing asphalt instead of engaging. 

Ladies from the deli station saw the open window as an invitation and began chatting it up. The driver shared that they had been parked in this spot since one that morning. This, based on the levity of the conversation, made it sound like sleeping here was routine on pantry day. I continued on with my job as pleasantries continued.

After doing everything I could do to be ready, and then doing it again, I began to feel the anticipation growing. Couldn’t the ladies ahead see what time it was? At that point, I was checking the clock every few seconds, doing pessimistic math on how long it could take to process a line that continued to grow. I didn’t bother to ask about the end time. Would we be here all day?

Because I thought I knew how this should go, I started growing a little impatient with the amount of time being devoted to just one of at least a hundred cars. But the volunteers and driver continued to converse with no end in sight. They were surely going well beyond the simple “good morning” that sounded real efficient coming off my tongue. A rapid delivery and some super quick walking had already helped me startle the next five cars up the line into making a beverage choice.

I glanced over again and again. Still no movement. My blood pressure was climbing to unhealthy levels. At this point, I just had to move closer and behold the contents of their never-ending conversation with my own ears.

What I uncovered upon eavesdropping were the kinds of connections that can only be formed if you have been talking to someone and, more importantly, listening to them intently for years. Cousins, uncles, illnesses, jobs and everything in between - it was all discussed with a level of care that felt so far beyond my capabilities. They were handing out food but giving the gift of being completely seen, which was equally important. The secondary goal had missed me entirely.

For three more hours, I watched these ladies do the same thing with every recipient. There was never any rush. Every person was embraced as if they were the most important human in the world at that moment. If someone pulled up and needed to talk about their situation, they were allowed to keep going for as long as necessary.

This could have simply been another task, a feel-good box to check on a chilly Wednesday morning while moving things along. That’s how my morning had started. However, for a guy who never remembers a name, the level of care on offer here was all very awesome and humbling to witness. It was stark evidence of how far off the mark I was.

After the line moved along and I was given many more tries, my newly inspired greetings to each car did eventually stretch out to include conversation. Reactions softened. I even lingered a few times like a social person. Personal facts were intentionally stored away to discuss next time.

It seems daunting that the objective is to do less, to achieve more through being present. That’s not the kind of goal I can usually wrap my head around. But I’m going to see what I can learn.

Perhaps, instead of working towards the title of World’s Most Impatient Man, I can reverse course. Maybe I don’t always have to be like that.