I am going to be late. I’m always late. I don’t like to be, but I’m always late. I’m late to work, I’m late to meet with friends. I’m late to appointments. I may even be late to my own funeral. I’m just always late. It’s not because I lack respect for time, quite the contrary: I believe that my time as well as people I deal with, unless proven otherwise, is valuable and worth my respect. I just don’t know why I’m late.

“What do you mean I’m impatient?” I asked, bewildered. “If they want to waste time, that’s their business. Just don’t wast mine.” “Well well, you seem to forget that when you are late, you are testing the patience of others as well as devaluing their time,” Dad replied. “Think about this as well; if you become more patient, you will be able to handle weird and difficult situations with ease.” Wow, this is rare, I pondered. I have no retort, no witty banter, nothing. Just nothing. He’s right. Patience translates into many things, much more than waiting.