For the last four-plus months, life has placed me in a master class about patience. I’ve had to admit my expectation about how long, debilitating, and painful knee replacement surgery recovery was going to be had nothing to do with the reality I’ve been experiencing. And I’ve had to repeatedly readjust my expectations.
When is the pain and discomfort going to slack off? When will I be able to walk without a limp? When will I be able to… fill in the blank. The answer I’ve had to become comfortable with is, “not yet. Not just yet.”
The Trap of Expectations
This morning, I finally remembered something I was so sure I knew, I didn’t think I could possibly forget it. The surest way to generate disappointment is by holding very specific expectations about how a particular situation is going to turn out. Without expectations, it’s impossible to be disappointed.
It’s as humbling to me that I could forget something so vitally useful as it is a relief that I can remember it when I need it. When I remembered the nature of expectations and disappointments, it was clear to me how much more difficult I was making my recovery than it needed to be.
That got me reflecting about patience, and what I’ve learned about it during this recovery. Some weeks ago, I was being incredibly hard on myself because my recovery wasn’t progressing the way I thought it should have been. The word “should” is always a tip-off I’m failing to accept life as it’s being presented to me. Essentially, I was rejecting real life in favor of what I decided would be a “better” version of life. This wasn’t the first time I’d felt cracked open by life.
During that bout of self-recrimination, I was somehow able to see this: there is no more an end to the patience I can show myself than there is a limitation to the love I can show myself or anyone else. I’d discovered the endless well of patience each of us can extend toward ourselves. Here’s what else I saw this morning: patience is a form of surrender. Calling on my own patience toward myself is not another job for me to take on, because there is absolutely no work involved in being patient. There is only surrender.
For many of us, patience seems like a lot to ask because we assume we’ll have to work for it; it seems like just one more job to do. It’s not. It’s one less job to do. Surrender isn’t giving up, it’s giving in to reality. It’s a willingness to admit there is a gulf between the way things are, and the way I’d like them to be. At that point, the choice is simple. My attraction to the way I believe things should be vanishes in favor of the way things are. Of course, that only happens when I remember there’s a choice to be made.
Final Reflection
Who would have ever believed that being patient with myself or anyone else is easier, less work, and definitely less emotional wear and tear than being impatient?
