*Typing*

Impatient people have great difficulty accepting things as they are. To relieve themselves of their anxiety, they make rash decisions in order to give themselves a false sense of control over circumstances that are completely out of their control.

Think about the frustrated driver smashing his horn in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Never in the history of locomotion has a "honk" managed to undo a traffic jam. Never. Yet, despite this truth, pissed off drivers still honk their horns at a standstill. Why? Because it makes them feel like they have some sort of "say" over the unfortunate circumstance they've found themselves in.

We honk constantly in our lives when things don't go our way. We honk because it's easier to honk than to find patience. Patience isn't resisting the urge to honk. This isn't patience. This is impatience with a bit of self-control. Patience is having the awareness to notice life's traffic jams and accepting there is nothing you can do to change them. Patience is letting go and then turning on the radio.

We tell ourselves that we desire deeper relationships and more meaningful work, yet the way in which we live our lives proves otherwise. Rather than making time for lunch with a friend, we have a man on a bicycle deliver a turkey melt so we can scroll through our feeds, alone and uninterrupted. Rather than dedicating deep, focused time to working on an ambitious project that could benefit the world in some small way, we spend hours thinking up content that can help us grow a following that we will inevitably feel disconnected to. We would almost certainly be happier if we poured our time and attention into cultivating a handful of close relationships and mastering a craft. So, why the collective hesitation? We hesitate because this approach to life and work comes with the cost of an audience, the cost of external validation and the cost of making strangers we will never meet jealous of a life we're not really living.

When you labor for long hours with your hands, you develop calluses. This is your skin thickening to protect itself from future wear and tear. While calluses protect your hands from the world's many sharp and jagged edges, they also dull your ability to feel the things you want to feel. You try and run a callused hand along bed linens fresh out the dryer, and it's difficult to feel anything at all. You develop these same calluses on your heart and soul as you experience both pain and suffering on your life's journey. It's your way of protecting yourself from future wear and tear. But, it's worth remembering that calluses cut both ways. The cost of not feeling the bad... is not feeling the good.

It's impossible to read when you are anxious. You can try. But, you will find that while you might be looking at the words and turning the pages, you aren't actually absorbing anything. To read well, you must be both calm and fully-present with the book in front of you.

The same can be said for listening. Many of us think we are good listeners. But, in actuality, we are not. Listening while thinking about something else isn't listening; neither is listening while silently disagreeing nor listening while thinking about what you're going to say after the other person stops talking.

To listen––to truly listen––you must be calm and fully present with the other person. You must suspend judgement and thought while yougenuinely attempt to hear what the other person's is saying. This––this is listening.

Songs are "supposed" to be three and a half minutes long. Frank Ocean's Pyramids is nearly ten minutes long.

Films are "supposed" to be 120 minutes long. Martin Scorsese's Irishman is 209 minutes long.

Paintings are "supposed" to be pulled from a palette of 10 to 20 essential colors. Mark Rothko's Orange and Yellow pulls from just three.

Novels are "supposed" to be 120,000 words. Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 is 46,118 words.

Rules in art aren't so much rules but suggestions. They should certainly be considered but they don't have to be accepted.