Day Forty-Three: Patience, My Ass

I am not, and have never been a patient person. I hate waiting, I have a short attention span, and I will usually take any opportunity I have to make a process go faster, and usually at my own expense. "Oh, I'm supposed to wait thirty minutes for my nail polish to dry before attempting to open this cardboard box with my hands? No, that's okay, I'll just do it very carefully."  This, of course, only ends in a string of colorful curse words, wasted time, and wasted nail polish. "Please wait seven to ten days for delivery." No, I will avidly track my package from the day I make my order to see if it will arrive on my doorstep in, perhaps, two or three days instead.

When it comes to waiting for important things to process that I cannot possibly make go any faster, such as the waiting after a job interview, or in my current example, waiting to hear from a realtor about a place, I feel helpless, restless, and annoyed that the situation is almost completely out of my hands, and anything I could do to make the process work faster would almost certainly harm the outcome. Sure, I could call or email the woman several times a day to get the status on my credit check and the landlord's decision, but proving myself to be "a real go-getter" will probably only prove me to be controlling, impatient, and untolerably annoying. Nobody wants to rent to somebody like that. So instead, I must be content with what I can do with this process: sit and watch my phone blink peacefully in its unquavering and uninterrupted sleep. Sure, at some point during the day, or within the next few days, it might vibrate to life with flashing lights and blinking colors, but right now, it isn't, and I won't have any idea when it will (or if it will). So I have absolutely no other reasonable and psychologically stable option other than to wait patiently. I could wait impatiently, sure, but that would not make my answer come any sooner, and it would only serve to make me more stressed out, more upset, and more impatient than I already am.

So, I'm going to sit and wait. I will keep my phone glued by my side and be patient for as long as I physically can until I become a warped and girly version of the Incredible Hulk, in which my inner child will come tumbling uncontrollably out and I will probably throw a temper tantrum, which I absolutely still do (I am entirely ashamed to admit this, but I promise I do it completely away from other people, and it usually consists of throwing something unbreakable and sobbing hysterically. Please note that this has never happened at the result of impatience. I have only ever known myself to throw an adult temper tantrum when I have done something incredibly, epically stupid and probably knew that it was a bad idea before I did it, yet I proceeded anyway. I think that's probably a decent reason.). In my slight experience, the longer I have had to wait for something, the better it ended up being when it arrived. so maybe I'll end up having to wait a week, and it will all turn out beautifully. I guess I just have to wait.

Day Thirty-Seven: Do You Believe That Things are "Meant to Be"?

In the mighty search for a place to live, I have been looking several times a day and calling numerous weird people in order to find something affordable in an area I like that isn't a dump. Since I'm making entry-level salary and refuse to live with others, I obviously can't afford much. So, the process has been proving difficult, and I still haven't looked at anything other than the one small, yet adorable place I've already seen.

But today, my mother found a place that warranted an email in the middle of the day telling me about it. It wasn't just a one-bedroom apartment, it was a two-bedroom cottage, with a washer and dryer. For the same price as the one-bedroom room in an old house with no washer and dryer I had seen. I immediately scrambled to see pictures of it online, and was convinced when I saw it had its own mailbox. So, naturally, I called the realtor immediately to schedule a showing, and I am awaiting her call back.

So while I would love to love this place, and love even more to love it and rent it, it may just be not meant to be. Maybe, it isn't "meant" to happen. While I am not necessarily a spiritual person and I am definitely not a religious one, I can't help but believing begrudgingly in the concept that if something is supposed to happen and work out, it will. I take my job as the perfect example of that. It took me a ridiculously long time to get hired after college, and I went on interview after interview and never got an offer. But finally, I was offered the job I have now, and I couldn't be happier. I can't imagine finding a better environment to work in or better people to work with. So clearly, to me, it was "meant to happen."

So, like I was with my job situation five months ago, I am antsy and on-edge about this cute little cottage. But as I've learned a pretty strong lesson with the employment situation, I now have a better sense of calm about this situation than I think I normally would have. If the realtor doesn't call me back, I will email her, and then if she doesn't get back to me, I will assume it wasn't meant to happen. I am also a strong believer that you need to go after what you want in life, but if doing all you can doesn't get you want you want, maybe it just wasn't meant to happen.

Whether this is or is not the case, I am trying to remain calm and un-stressed about this situation to keep what is left of my sanity and peace of mind. I am chronically stressed out and probably shortening my life, so the last thing I want to do is get worked up over something that really is not that important. Moving out is important, yes, but I do not have to move out by March. Getting a cottage is not important, it's just a really lucky opportunity. So I'll sit and wait, but I won't freak out. Here, cottage, cottage, cottage...