I get so impatient sometimes. I find myself, at times, growing so antsy and anxious for things to happen that I can almost feel the anticipation crawling underneath my skin. I convince myself that it must be now or never.
But then suddenly I am reminded that there can be beauty in taking it slow; simply taking each day and moment as it comes, for what it's worth. Without expectation.
And so I try not to feel the urgent need to rush, I attempt to enjoy the gradual unfolding of events, like the slow dance of unfurling petals as the flower opens to the world. I fight the urge to speed life by force, as I would pop stubborn fuchsia buds open as a child. I am wiser now and know that the delicate bloom may not survive the rash fluster of my impatience.
I know now that sometimes life requires a careful balance of patience and awareness. I can't coerce what's not ready to happen, nor can I sit back and wait passively. After all, a plant needs space to grow, but also requires the care of water and sunlight to flourish.
I must somehow be able to recocile the restlessness that wants to rush forward full speed, and the doubt that sometimes forces me to stand still.