Hold, Please
On library holds and "practicing" patience.
One of my favorite sections at the library is one that I can’t access, except for a small sliver that corresponds with the number on my library card: the holds section.
When I walk into the library after receiving the notice that my book is in (or, let’s face it, books — I’ve got a habit of reserving 10+ books that inevitably come in at the same time), I look at the rest of the shelves. I like to see what other people have requested, the books they’ve asked to be brought here for them, the ones for which they’ve patiently waited, like I have.
This is, in some ways, funny to me because I would not describe myself as a patient person.
If my internet browser is taking longer than I think it should, I press “enter” and “refresh” multiple times and with some slight aggression. When our TV remote glitches (which is frequent), I grab it and slap it to my palm three times in a row, believing that said slapping will shift the batteries into the right spot and magically make things work. (Is that a thing? I’ve always thought it was a thing.) And don’t even ask how I handle drivers who take their sweet time and do not slow down to let me merge into their lane. (If you did, the answer would be “not well.”)
In theory, I know what patience is because I too often experience its opposite. But I decided to Google it to make sure I really knew: according to the first definition, patience is “the capacity to accept or tolerate delay, trouble, or suffering without getting angry or upset.”
Capacity. How many times I have thought or uttered out loud, “I’m at capacity.” “I’m over-capacity.” (How many times have you?) These silly little things I was losing my mind over weren’t different, all of a sudden — it was my capacity that had diminished. I could no longer tolerate the slight delay.
I often wonder when it shifted. When the extra few moments started having the power to make my body tense up, or mutter “what the hell” under my breath, or — when I’m really frustrated — let out a hiss like a cat. When did my capacity become so small?
Off the top of my head: When I was so stuck in time scarcity that I woke up two hours earlier than I needed to in order to get a start on the day. When the chattering in my head about what I needed to get done would not shut up, even when I tried to go to sleep. When I believed my worth was defined by what I could cross off my to-do list.
Perhaps I am patient with the books I put on hold because I know that, when they arrive, they will have been worth the wait. That I will get a little shot of dopamine when I get the email that my book is in, and another when I arrive at the holds shelf and see it waiting there for me. That my patience allowed other readers — sometimes hundreds before me! — to experience this book.
I wonder what would happen if I viewed more of life with this attitude. If instead of being frustrated at the speed of my internet, I can be astounded that I live in a time where I can quickly discover the annual salary of semi-truck drivers in an instant. If instead of trying to weasel my way out of the Costco parking lot and bypass the other cars and people moving slower-than-I-would-like-them-to with their carts, I would take that as a moment of silence and stillness in my day. If instead of wanting a fully published Substack newsletter to pour out of my fingers, I can be grateful for the space and time to explore what’s stirring inside.
Maybe these opportunities to practice patience, to be put on hold in our lives, are invitations to expand our capacity for stillness. For the in-between. For quiet. Maybe these are chances to take a breath, quiet our minds, and refocus on what we’re doing. Maybe they’re like the holds at the library — instead of grabbing new books on the shelf, on the other side, we arrive at a bit more capacity.