A lament on waiting

One of the hardest parts of every single day of my life is waiting.

Waiting for people who are late for appointments.

Waiting for people who have yet to wake up and read their email. Waiting for them to decide to respond. Waiting for volunteers to have time to read email and feel like responding. Waiting for things to get done at another person's pace although you know time is of the essence in almost everything. Waiting for a Skype or phone call while the other person forgets and feeling like you cannot afford to get mad. Waiting for the moment as you work late when you will start feeling dizzy at your desk but need to push so that at least things on your desk will get done on time.

Waiting, and biting back the goading and pushing, and remembering to always sound abjectly grateful--you have no idea how stressful this can be. My ego is daily subdued by continuing to depend on other people for all sorts of things--their time, their money, their effort, their attention.

I will end this life having learnt great patience despite my fundamental impatience and a Bombayite's deeply embedded sense of urgency.
In my next life, I want to be surrounded by speedy people and the luxury of leisurely creation.
And I want never ever to put people in the position in which I constantly am-- of quelling anxiety and hypertension as I wait; of tempering the need to scream at them; of feeling very small because I depend on their goodwill; of feeling helpless; of knowing that a decade of just waiting for other people has decimated my stamina to the point that even tasks I can execute on my own now take help.