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Making Bread Reminds Me of the Virtue of Patience
Stretch, fold, rest, repeat.
It was mid-2020, and I was in an especially stressed out and overactive state. My boyfriend had just finished work and, in an effort to relax, called me over. He put his arms around me tenderly, and presented me with a challenge: Was I capable of lying down with him for a little bit, without jumping up to attend to some chores?
It might sound like an easy enough request to abide by, but since I was a little girl, I have not been able to sit still for more than a minute without fidgeting. It’s some ADHD shit for sure, but my inability to chill out also comes from being afraid of sitting with my own thoughts. After what felt like an eternity but was probably only two minutes — oscillating between losing myself in the niceness of my boyfriend’s warm arms, worrying about the next six items on my to-do list, planning out the meal I was about to cook, and feeling deep shame over something stupid I said a decade ago — I caved. I began to whine about how I wanted to make dinner and before I knew it, I was on my feet, making a mad dash to the kitchen.
Patience is good. It’s a virtue I’m forever working on nurturing, since living in a perpetual state of restlessness is not sustainable. Remembering to be patient takes work.
