On impatience, complicated circumstances, and the peculiar human desire to have everything figured out by Wednesday

I have a complicated relationship with tangled things. Earphone wires, necklaces, shoelaces, and particularly those mysterious knots that appear in perfectly innocent objects while nobody is looking. I have always wondered how a necklace can spend several hours lying peacefully inside a drawer and somehow emerge looking as though it has participated in an elaborate wrestling competition. There is no evidence of movement, no suspicious activity, and certainly nobody available to explain what happened. Yet there it is, twisted into a small metallic catastrophe, waiting for someone with considerably more patience than I possess. Naturally, my first instinct is to pull.

A perfectly terrible idea, as experience has repeatedly demonstrated.

The harder I pull, the tighter the knot becomes. What began as a minor inconvenience gradually turns into a personal disagreement between me and an inanimate object. I examine it, turn it around, attempt another approach, and eventually begin questioning whether the necklace was worth purchasing in the first place. Somewhere during this increasingly ridiculous struggle, I usually realise that I have spent more time being irritated than actually solving the problem.

I suspect life occasionally operates according to the same principle.

There are situations we desperately want to resolve because uncertainty makes us uncomfortable. We want explanations, decisions, answers, and some indication that our efforts are leading towards a satisfactory conclusion. We imagine that if we concentrate hard enough, work fast enough, or worry enthusiastically enough, everything will eventually fall into place. And when circumstances refuse to cooperate, we become impatient, as though the world has violated an agreement it never actually made.

I have been guilty of this more times than I care to admit.

Whenever I want something badly, patience becomes an extraordinarily inconvenient virtue. I can appreciate its importance in theory. I can even advise other people to practise it, especially when their problems appear considerably easier to understand than my own. But when I am the person waiting for an answer, facing an uncertain decision, or trying to make sense of a complicated situation, I suddenly develop a remarkable interest in immediate results.

Tomorrow would be lovely. Today would be better. Five minutes ago would have been ideal.

Unfortunately, life has never shown much enthusiasm for following my preferred timetable.

I sometimes wonder why waiting bothers us so much. Perhaps it is because we associate movement with progress. We feel productive when we are making decisions, completing tasks, and witnessing visible results. Even a small accomplishment can reassure us that we are doing something useful. But when nothing appears to change, we become suspicious. We begin questioning whether we have done enough, whether we should attempt something different, or whether we have somehow lost control of the situation.

And so we start pulling at the threads.

We send another message when the previous one has not been answered. We make a decision before understanding the circumstances. We demand explanations from people who may not yet know how to express themselves. We rush towards conclusions because leaving a question unanswered seems almost unbearable.

Sometimes this determination produces results. There are circumstances in which prompt action is necessary, and delaying an important responsibility can create problems of its own. But other situations require observation, reflection, preparation, or simply allowing enough time for the available information to become clearer.

Knowing which situation we are facing is perhaps the more difficult part.

I have noticed that impatience often disguises itself as responsibility. We tell ourselves that we are being proactive, that we are taking matters seriously, and that our determination demonstrates how much we care about the outcome. Sometimes that is true. But occasionally, what we call determination is simply our inability to tolerate the possibility that something remains unresolved.

We want certainty because certainty is comfortable.

An answer gives us something to work with, even when it is not the answer we hoped to receive. A decision gives us direction. A completed task allows us to move towards the next one. Uncertainty, on the other hand, leaves us occupying an awkward space between what we know and what we wish we knew.

It is rather like standing at a bus stop without knowing whether the bus is running late, has already departed, or has decided to pursue a different career altogether.

And there we remain, staring down the road as though sufficient concentration might encourage a vehicle to appear.

I think people are particularly impatient when their emotions become involved. A misunderstanding with someone we care about can feel far more urgent than an ordinary practical problem. We want to clear the air immediately, explain our intentions, and restore the comfortable relationship we remember. The thought of allowing a disagreement to remain unsettled can be deeply frustrating.

Yet conversations are not always improved by insisting that they happen before everybody is prepared to have them.

There are times when people need an opportunity to consider what they feel, understand what happened, and decide what they want to say. Pressuring someone to respond immediately may satisfy our desire for movement while making genuine understanding more difficult.

I am beginning to appreciate that giving a situation time is not necessarily the same as avoiding it.

Sometimes it is simply recognising that a thoughtful response requires more than an immediate reaction.

The same principle applies to our own decisions. We may be disappointed by an opportunity that has not materialised, frustrated by progress that seems slower than expected, or dissatisfied with how far we have come compared with where we imagined ourselves being. We look at other people and wonder why their circumstances appear to have developed more conveniently than ours.

Somebody seems to have reached an important milestone. Another person has received the opportunity we are still hoping for. Someone else appears to possess an impressively organised future, complete with achievements, photographs, and evidence of a life proceeding according to plan.

Meanwhile, we are still trying to understand why our metaphorical necklace has become attached to itself in seventeen different places.

It is tempting to conclude that we are falling behind.

But behind according to whose schedule?

I have never understood why we are so eager to compare our lives as though everybody began with identical circumstances, opportunities, responsibilities, and ambitions. People encounter different challenges and make decisions based on experiences we may know very little about. What appears effortless from a distance may have required considerable preparation, assistance, or persistence.

And sometimes, of course, people simply have better luck.

That possibility is not particularly inspirational, but it is worth acknowledging.

Not every delay conceals a profound lesson. Sometimes circumstances are inconvenient because they are inconvenient. An application may take longer than expected. A plan may encounter an obstacle. Somebody may fail to communicate properly. A situation may require more resources than we currently possess.

It is not always necessary to interpret these difficulties as mysterious signs that the universe is preparing something extraordinary.

Sometimes what we need is patience accompanied by a practical plan.

And perhaps that is where I have often misunderstood the virtue.

I used to imagine patience as a kind of passive endurance, as though being patient meant sitting quietly while events unfolded around us. The patient person, in my imagination, was someone who waited without complaining, accepted delays gracefully, and possessed an almost supernatural ability to remain pleasant when circumstances became inconvenient.

I have never met this person.

If such an individual exists, I would very much like to know what they eat for breakfast.

But perhaps patience is something more useful than pretending we are never frustrated. It may involve recognising which parts of a situation require action and which parts cannot yet be changed. We can prepare, communicate, seek advice, and make reasonable decisions without demanding that every uncertainty disappear immediately.

We can continue doing what is necessary while accepting that some outcomes take longer than our enthusiasm would prefer.

That distinction matters because waiting indefinitely is not always wise. There are situations where we need to establish boundaries, request clarification, or recognise that continued delay may cause unnecessary harm. Patience should never become an excuse for tolerating repeated disrespect or neglecting responsibilities that require attention.

Sometimes we need to stop waiting and make a decision.

Other times, however, we need to resist making a decision simply because waiting has become uncomfortable.

I think about that whenever I encounter a situation that feels hopelessly tangled. My instinct is often to identify the most visible problem and attack it with enthusiasm, hoping the rest will somehow resolve itself. Yet complicated circumstances rarely consist of one isolated issue. They involve different people, competing priorities, consequences, and information that may not be available immediately.

Pulling at one thread without understanding how it connects to the others can make the entire arrangement more difficult.

Perhaps the more sensible approach is to examine what can be addressed first.

One conversation. One responsibility. One decision. One small adjustment that makes the next step easier to understand.

It sounds almost disappointingly ordinary.

We tend to prefer dramatic solutions, particularly when we have spent a considerable amount of time worrying about something. We want the satisfying moment when every problem disappears, every misunderstanding is resolved, and the future becomes beautifully organised.

Unfortunately, most meaningful progress is less theatrical.

It may consist of learning something we did not previously understand, admitting that our first approach was ineffective, or accepting that we need assistance. It may require changing a plan we were particularly attached to or recognising that an outcome depends partly on circumstances beyond our control.

There is very little glamour in such developments.

But they are developments nonetheless.

I have also begun to question why we treat slowness as though it automatically indicates failure. Some things genuinely require time to develop properly. Understanding a difficult subject, improving a skill, establishing trust, and making thoughtful decisions cannot always be hurried without compromising the result.

I would never expect somebody to become competent at a complicated task simply because they were impatient to succeed. Learning requires repetition, correction, and opportunities to discover what does not work. Yet when it comes to our personal lives, we sometimes expect ourselves to understand everything immediately.

We demand clarity before we have gathered enough information.

We demand confidence before we have acquired enough experience.

And occasionally, we demand an ending while we are still trying to understand the beginning.

Perhaps we ought to be a little more reasonable with ourselves.

There are decisions I once wanted to make immediately that I am grateful I reconsidered. There are conversations I would probably have handled differently if I had allowed myself more time to think. And there are circumstances that became easier to understand simply because additional information emerged later.

Of course, I have also experienced delays that accomplished absolutely nothing except test my patience.

I do not intend to romanticise every inconvenience.

But those experiences have made me more cautious about confusing urgency with importance.

Something can matter enormously without requiring an immediate answer. A decision can influence our future without needing to be made in the next five minutes. And a difficult situation can deserve serious attention without consuming every available moment of our day.

Perhaps what frustrates us most is not always the length of time something takes, but the fact that we cannot determine exactly when it will be finished.

We want to know how many more days, how many more attempts, how many more conversations, or how many more disappointments must occur before we can finally move forward.

And when nobody can give us a definite answer, we begin imagining the worst.

I have done that often enough to recognise how exhausting it can become.

There is a strange temptation to believe that worrying continuously demonstrates commitment. If we stop thinking about a problem, perhaps we are being careless. If we allow ourselves to enjoy something while an important matter remains unresolved, perhaps we are not taking it seriously enough.

But worrying about something every waking hour does not necessarily make us more capable of resolving it.

Sometimes it simply makes the hours more unpleasant.

I would rather learn to distinguish between giving a problem appropriate attention and allowing it to occupy every corner of my imagination.

That is easier written than practised, admittedly.

My brain has an impressive ability to revisit unfinished matters at inconvenient times, particularly when I am attempting to sleep. It seems to consider midnight an excellent opportunity to organise an emergency meeting about something I already spent the entire afternoon considering.

Naturally, no useful conclusion is reached.

The meeting is merely adjourned until the following evening.

Perhaps one day I shall become extraordinarily patient, capable of approaching every inconvenience with calm consideration and a perfectly sensible understanding of what can and cannot be controlled.

I doubt it will happen tomorrow.

But I am learning.

I am learning that forcing an answer does not necessarily make it correct, that rushing a conversation does not guarantee understanding, and that progress sometimes becomes easier when we stop trying to solve every part of a problem simultaneously.

I am learning that there is no shame in admitting that something is complicated, and no particular virtue in pretending we know exactly what to do when we do not.

Most importantly, I am learning that patience is not measured by how quietly we suffer through uncertainty. It is reflected in how thoughtfully we respond while uncertainty remains.

And that, I suspect, is a far more useful lesson than simply telling ourselves not to become impatient.

As for the necklace that inspired this entire reflection, I eventually discovered that the most effective approach was also the least dramatic. I had to stop pulling, examine where the chain had crossed itself, and work through the knots carefully. Some loosened immediately. Others required a little more attention. At several points, I was tempted to return to my original method of using unnecessary force, but experience had already demonstrated the consequences of that particular strategy.

Eventually, the chain was free.

There was no extraordinary moment of triumph, no audience waiting to applaud my achievement, and certainly no reason to inform the general public that I had successfully defeated a small piece of jewellery.

It was simply untangled.

And I thought about how much frustration I might have avoided if I had approached the problem that way from the beginning.

Of course, I cannot promise that I will remember this lesson every time life presents me with another complicated situation. There will probably be occasions when impatience gets the better of me, when I demand answers too quickly, or when I mistake activity for progress.

I am human, after all.

And occasionally, a very stubborn one.

But perhaps the next time I find myself facing something that refuses to resolve according to my preferred schedule, I will remember that little necklace and reconsider my approach.

I may still be tempted to pull.

I may still complain.

I may even conduct a brief argument with the universe about its apparent lack of cooperation.

But before making the situation worse, I hope I will have enough sense to examine the knot.

After all, there is something rather embarrassing about spending an entire afternoon fighting a necklace, only to discover that the real problem was the person holding both ends.

For the unfinished plans, unanswered questions, and complicated situations that deserve a little more thought before we start pulling.

— Just Anj