The best things in life always seem to tax my patience.
This past weekend, my mother-in-law and sister-in-law came from Alaska. You might think we spent our visit kicking back, but if you know the Englands, you know they’re too energetic for that!
Instead, we built a new bathroom in the 128-year-old house Nathan and I are restoring. We also cooked. And I did some really productive writing.
All three activities take time. Lots and lots of time.
Nathan and I moved into our home fourteen months ago. Since then, the original siding and wood floors have reappeared after decades under ugly facades. We’ve redone the electrical. Transformed the kitchen. Swapped windows and added insulation. Yet there’s still a ton to do.
On the cooking side, a gourmet meal may not take fourteen months, but it does take hours. And compared to ten minutes spent eating it, that’s a lot of slicing, dicing, boiling, and baking.
The same goes for creativity. A good story isn’t born overnight. It’s hours, months, sometimes years in the making. I’ve got works-in-progress even now that make me think, “Why can’t this get written faster?”
Yes, the best things in life do tax my patience.
But at the end, I’m always glad I waited.
And that’s when I realized: the journey of making is its own reward. In our fast-food, HOV-lane, Instagram culture, we sacrifice the pleasure of the in-between for the anxiety of the immediate. The best things in life take time, and waiting is all they ask in return.
So toss me a hammer. Hand me a pairing knife. And while you’re at it, fire up my laptop.
There are good things to be made. And time’s a-wastin’.