Patiently Learning My Lesson

I started a new job this week. After several years of working temp jobs, I have finally broken out of that temp-job cycle and have landed a permanent one. Halle-fricking-lujah! Finally. I am not a patient person. Oh sure, I can wait patiently in line at Costco behind 50 people with carts overflowing with 100-pound bags of pretzels and other necessities of life, because, well, it's Costco! But when it comes to some of the major categories of my life (job, career, love), I have the patience of a spoiled four-year-old at her own birthday party being forced to wait until the very end to open her presents.

Since my divorce, life's biggest lesson for me has been patience. Even though I really wanted a permanent job, I had to wait a long time for one. My temp jobs helped me brush up my job skills, and I slowly gained enough experience to become marketable again as an employee in the full-time permanent pool. Eventually I got what I wanted, but ding-dang, it took much, much longer than I was prepared to wait.

And life continues its lesson, since I've been learning patience in my love life too. For the past two months, I've been dating a great guy I met online. We see each other about once a week. Even though I would like to see him more often, one date a week is really all our busy schedules will allow.

I like to think of myself as a quick study. (Who doesn't?) But even if that were true, there is no shortcut for learning patience. Cultivating patience is like listening to a long story told by a beloved aunt with a terrible stutter. It takes as excruciatingly long as it takes.

Happy For the Reminder

I am sitting on a bench facing the marina on a beautiful day in Los Angeles. I am struggling to write something witty or insightful about love for this blog, killing time before I pick up my daughter from a nearby birthday party. Less than ten feet from me is a married couple bickering about everything in front of friends into whom they accidentally bumped. He says the fish he caught on their recent trip was 30 inches long. She objects and claims it was only 25 inches. It continues on unabated by the presence of their friends, who seem trapped by an unfortunate circumstance forced upon them by Fate, the black-humored prankster of the Universe. He says something, she disagrees on the nobody-gives-a-f*ck details. They choose to pollute an otherwise serene place with their annoying, slightly hostile vibes rather than breathe in the glorious scene, grateful to be alive. I am once again happy for the reminder of how hard it can be to be married.

A big boat drifts by with a man in a formal tux and a woman in a white wedding dress, presumably sailing off to fulfill their marital destiny. "DON'T DO IT!" yells Mr. Bicker in a half-hearted way, as if he knows he's powerless to warn a man off tying the knot when that man is in the grip of love's sweet pull. The friends react with nervous laughter, embarrassed by the wider implication of Mr. Bicker's half-joking last-minute advice to the groom. Mrs. Bicker half-heartedly hits her loud-mouth galoot of a husband on the shoulder and commands him to "STOP IT! HE CAN'T HEAR YOU!" Then he reaches over and kisses her and they get on their bikes and ride away. I wonder to myself if I'll ever meet someone who will put up with me enough to kiss me even when I'm *that* annoying. Then I'm happy for the reminder that marriage works in mysterious ways.