layers of patience and peaceful gray

There are two ways to drive to my apartment. The fastest way — the way I take most often — cuts right through town. The other way takes a bit longer, but the road follows the water, just across from the city. Sometimes, like today, I take the long way around.

Seattle defies winter. No matter how cold it is, we’re out. Walking dogs, jogging, rollerblading, kayaking, scuba diving (yes, nearly every day, I see divers out, in the crazy cold water). I like watching people walking along the beach with their lattes and strollers and gloves. I like the layered grays of the beach: the water, the sky, the clouds, the mountains. It’s peaceful and active and chaotic and soothing all at the same time.

I don’t know if I’ll ever really learn patience. Sometimes I feel as though I should remind myself with post-it notes on my monitor, my bathroom mirror, my coffeemaker, my car’s dash: Be Patient. Wait. Breathe. Although I don’t know how much it would really help. Maybe I’m getting better. Life forces things like patience sometimes. I try to remember that the next day will come. I don’t have to do it all, be it all, understand it all right this very minute.

Resolved for 2008: Patience. Right fucking now.

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