The gift of patience

Early in the first film of the series, we learn that Neo (Keanu Reeves) is able to connect to “the Matrix” by having a cable plugged into a jack implanted in the back of his head. One of the perks of this odd-looking piece of hardware is that, in order to quickly learn new skills, Neo can have simulations uploaded into his brain. In a matter of moments, a man who used to spend his days sitting in a beige office in front of a beige computer in a beige cubicle becomes an expert in martial arts, guns, and piloting a helicopter.

If these headjacks were available in the real world, I’d jump on the opportunity to have one.

The night before I finished this post, I was sitting in a restaurant in Tokyo struggling to order food and drinks from a menu where the only characters I recognized were the prices. How much richer could my experience have been if I could simply upload Japanese into my brain and read and converse with ease?

But while headjacks don’t yet exist, the motivation behind them is pervasive. I’ve seen dozens of books offer the promise that you can “Teach Yourself X in 21 Days,” along with online bootcamps and other services designed to accelerate the learning process. And it’s not just knowledge: our entire society is built on the desire to do more in less time, from diet pills designed to help us lose weight faster, to smart phones that accelerate our access to information.

These inventions may work to an extent, but they also have repercussions. Diet pills have led to a laundry list of side effects including death. And smart phones have begun to erode our mental health while giving us the attention spans of goldfish.

I don’t take diet pills and I’m pretty disciplined with my phone, but I’ve still suffered the consequences of my impatience. When I visited Yosemite to climb to the top of Half Dome, I was in such a hurry that I barely stopped to take in my surroundings. The result was that while I reached the top, as I made my descent, I took a wrong turn and ended up lost in the woods for hours with no water.

Sometimes, as with my Yosemite trip, my lack of patience makes it hard for me to appreciate how far I’ve come. I’ve been taking Spanish lessons for over two years. I’m sure I’ve learned a lot, but all that seems to matter to me is that I’m still far from fluent.

In other cases, the goal is so overwhelming that it’s hard for me to find the will to even try. At the beginning of this year, I decided to write a novel. But the more I’ve thought about it, the more things I discover are left to do and the more daunting the task becomes. After nine months, I have a couple dozen pages of notes but haven’t even started creating chapter one.

I need to accept that there may not be a headjack in my future; that big goals usually take a long time to achieve. Perhaps more importantly, I need to learn to appreciate the small moments along the way.

Last night as a I sat at the bar in that small restaurant in Tokyo, I was surrounded by Japanese people talking and laughing and being served all sorts of intriguing dishes and drinks. Meanwhile, I was the awkward American, staring at my menu for several minutes before I realized it was upside-down. I had to point to items that looked good and hope for the best.

Yet somehow, I ended up with a delicious meal and a nice buzz.

When my plates and glasses were empty, I looked up how to ask for the check. After rehearsing the line in my head several times, I decided to take a chance and open my mouth.

“Sumimasen,” I said. The server looked in my direction. “Okaikei onegaishimasu,” I continued. She nodded and gestured for me to wait a moment. A minute or so later, she handed me my bill.

As I looked around the restaurant once more, I felt a little bit more at home. I paid my bill and said “arigato” to thank the server. As I stood up to leave, the customer sitting next to me looked up at me, smiled, and waved goodbye.

We may only achieve a handful of major goals in our lifetimes. But small yet fulfilling moments like this can come at any time as long as we allow ourselves to see them.