Patience!

I am the queen of impatience! I would like to live in the faraway land of instant results, have-it-now, don’t-make-me-wait . . . but so far I haven’t found it. To my dismay, what I have discovered is that eighty percent of life involves the one quality I am lacking: patience—the ability to not act hastily and persevere with joyfulness. The other twenty percent of life involves actually doing: seizing the opportunity and acting.

The positive side is that I am consistent: consistently impatient with everything in my life. I was impatient to grow up, to get married, to buy a house, to have children. I am impatient with people, money, time, my kids, my husband, my family. So what do I gain from my impatience, besides gray hair? Truthfully, nothing! There is not one situation that my impatience has made better.

Here are some words that go hand in hand with patience: enduring without complaint (not a chance), tolerant (nope), tranquil (no way). So what’s the opposite of patience? Irritable (for sure), resentful (okay, but I’m trying to show forgiveness), restless (ninety-nine percent of the time). Is this a HUGE flaw for me? Yes, and the sooner I acquire the skill of patience, the sooner I can move on to another.

So what good things come to those who wait? Peace of mind, better relationships, lasting friendships, a calm heart, spiritual and emotional health, and respect. These are all things I desire. Impatience is waiting for something to happen while life passes you by. It robs you of joy and contentment. Patience is about enduring without complaint, working hard and savoring every moment along the way. So even though I wear the “impatient” crown well, I would much rather be the queen of : what’s the rush, take your time, it’s worth the wait!

Love, the unconditional kind

The day I got married, I took a vow that went something like this : “I, Aubrey, take you, Jonathan, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do us part.” These vows are spoken every day; they are also broken every day. But unspoken vows can be more important than uttered promises.

The love I have for my husband is not the same adoration I have for my family. Marital love is based on conditions. If your spouse cheats on you, abuses you, steals from you, lies to you, or ends up in prison, it usually affects how you feel about him or her. This can lead to divorce court or embarrassing yourself on Judge Judy.

That’s not the love most family members have for each other. I feel differently about my children than I do about my mate. If my children cheated, stole, lied, or ended up in prison, my love would not change. I might be embarrassed by their choices, but I would still love them as much as I did yesterday. This is the absolute love that you share with your flesh and blood. It’s not one many people talk about, but it is one I have seen displayed over and over again.

My parents demonstrated this hopeful love with all three of their children. They believed in us, they wanted the best for us, and they recognized hidden greatness, even if it might not have existed. I am pretty sure my parents did not make this vow the day I was born: “I take thee, little baby Aubrey, to be my family, in absolute love, unconditionally. For dumber or smarter, in bad choices or good. Through jail time, addictions, evictions, even when you’re misunderstood. I will hope for the best, with no expectations, and will hold your hand through all your afflictions.” They may never have uttered those words, but I have seen them in action, and it gives me confidence that, no matter what poor or wise decisions I make, whether or not they express it in words, my family will always be there with open arms to show me love—the unconditional kind.

We all live with our mistakes

This goes hand in hand with forgiveness, because sometimes we think it is our job to punish people for treating us badly. “I’m going to make them pay!” “They’ll regret ever hurting me.” “I’ll get them back!”

But I have some good news for you! When someone has a tendency to treat people badly and does not take others’ feelings into account, they will end up hurting themselves more than anything you could ever do to them. I’m not saying this will happen overnight. And sometimes we may not think it’s a mistake at the time. Take, for example, a parent who works excessively and does not have time to spend with their children. They may reason: I am working hard so that I can provide a nice home, clothing and a comfortable lifestyle for my kids. Truthfully, those are all good things, and there is no right answer. The problem will come twenty years from now, when the children are grown. How will they feel? Will they be thankful that you provided them with an abundant home, designer clothing and all the best money can buy, or will they be resentful because they felt you were never around when they needed you most?

Or let’s use a more black-and-white decision as an example: to have an extramarital affair. You can do it—many people do—and you probably won’t get arrested, but what consequences will you have to live with from that one mistake? Divorce, guilt, loss of trust. You may not see the consequences right away, because you are caught up in the moment, but there will be consequences and they will produce a ripple effect for years to come.

My parents, my grandparents, my aunts, my uncles, my brother and my sister, as well as myself, are all living with our mistakes. No one can do more damage than we can do to ourselves. So when you feel like it’s your job to get even, just step back and smile, fully confident that things have a funny way of coming back around.

Forgiveness is the ONLY option

I consider myself to be a logical person, so I have explored all of my options. Here they are: resentment, anger, bitterness, blame, hate. Truthfully, I have tried them all on for size. Do you know which one fits best? None of them. They all felt uncomfortable to me. I have seen many lives ruined from not letting go of the hurt people have caused them.

Let’s say you’re in your twenties, thirties or forties. You’ve jumped around from relationship to relationship, you’re broke, rely on medication or alcohol to deal with reality, and you relive all the past hurts inflicted on you. What right did they have to say that to you? How dare they treat you that way! Those many little conversations you have in your brain when you’re all alone. All those feelings of anger, hurt and resentment. Never directed at yourself; always at others. They are the reason you are broke, homeless, divorced, addicted.… So let me ask you: how far has that gotten you? Has it benefited you in any shape or form?

I am going to go out on a limb to say that every family member you know has been hurt at one time or another. Imagine two siblings with the same parents, raised in the same household. One turns out to have a happy life and the other only finds misery. What is the difference? Forgiveness.

This is probably the hardest lesson I have had to learn. To forgive is to grant pardon without harboring resentment. Do you know how hard that is? How many people actually do that? That’s not to say you were not hurt, maybe severely. You may never want to see that person again. But for your own sake, can you forgive and move on?

What if every time you felt anger, resentment, blame, bitterness and hate it cost you $100, and every time you showed forgiveness (even to yourself), you earned $100. How long would it take you to change? Could you change? We all can … it just requires more effort than we are willing to invest. Forgiveness is hard work. It does not come naturally. From this point on, think of forgiveness as the ONLY option.

It’s our quirks that make us lovable

First off, let me define quirkiness: a peculiar behavior; idiosyncrasy. Now, I want you to think about those you love the most. What is it that made you fall in love with them? If you could describe their personality in three words, what would they be? What peculiar behavior makes them who they are? We all have unique characteristics: some of us are creatures of habit, some are frugal, some are blunt, some are hermits, some are flaky. If you died tomorrow, what would people remember most about you? What would make them laugh when they reminisced. I have found that most of these peculiar behaviors are actually subconscious, developed over years of adapting to the life we have been given.

I learned this valuable lesson after my dad died. I realized that it was his quirkiness that I missed the most. I missed his ability to tell the same joke over and over, making himself laugh every time. I missed his unorthodox outlook on life. I missed his love of the transient lifestyle. I missed his exaggerated stories. I missed his passion for eccentric music. These peculiar behaviors added to his lovability. Was my dad the only quirky one in my family? Unfortunately not.

I discovered that my mom, who might not appear quirky on the surface, has her own peculiar behavior. We lovingly call it W.C.S. She has the ability to tell you the Worst Case Scenario in every situation. This may not seem like a bad trait, until you are in a San Francisco elevator with her and she tells you how horrible it would be if a large earthquake were to hit at that precise moment. Or when you are ready to board an airplane and she tells you how many birds she saw on the landing strip, and how likely they are to get caught in the engine of the plane.

Almost everyone around us has some sort of behavior that makes them stand out. You can allow these qualities to irritate you or you can savor them, laugh about them and store them in your file for later, because those same quirks are what make us lovable, especially when we are gone.

I am really not adopted

Have you ever heard of children who find out they are adopted? It shatters their world. Everything they thought they knew about themselves is not true. They may have a need to find their biological parents and start a lifelong quest for answers.

That is not me! My dream was actually the opposite. I had this childhood fantasy that I was switched at birth, and that someday my real family would figure it out and come and rescue me. They would be wealthy and refined, loving and kind.

When I was a teenager, this dream came very close to reality. Applying for a social security card, I had to fill out a form listing all the information on my birth certificate. So I listed my parents’ names, dates of birth and so on. When I approached the counter, the woman looked it over and said, “I’m sorry, but the names of your parents that we have on record do not match those you listed.”

My heart began to race. Was my dream coming true? I knew it!
“Can you tell me who my real parents are?” I asked.
She replied, “Sorry, that is confidential information.”

Oh, how high my hopes were running. I soon returned with my birth certificate, listing my supposed parents. When she wasn’t looking I snuck my head around to peek at the computer screen. I had to know. Who were these secret parents of mine?

The names on the screen were Herb and Evelyn. What? My grandparents? Of course, they had been mistakenly listed as my real parents. Oh well, you can’t blame a girl for trying.… I left, with my shattered dream.

I will admit that, even as an adult, I still wonder if there was a mix-up at the hospital. But would I really be happy if you told me today that my family was not really my family? Probably not! I would then inherit another family that would have just as many quirks and probably be just as dysfunctional. What if they were worse? I’ll stick with the family I know, and appreciate the fact that I am really not adopted.

Maybe they’re the normal ones

I have spent many days talking to others about my family’s crazy antics, and have enjoyed quite a few laughs at their expense. My dad, who has an amazing sense of humor and is one of the few who did not move to North Carolina, would call on a weekly basis and we would joke about my mom’s side of the family, whom he knew all too well. I think he got a sense of satisfaction from it.

Then, early one morning, I got the worst phone call of my life. My healthy, vibrant dad had suddenly died!

My sister and mom (who had divorced him twenty years earlier) had to fly out to California for his funeral. Now, you may believe that grief brings out the worst in people, and I am sure that is true for some individuals. But soon after arriving, I realized something profound: my dad’s side of the family, which I was rarely around, was just as crazy as my mom’s. That was the first phase of this light-bulb moment. The second phase came when I was talking to an old friend and telling him a story about my grandfather, who was on the top of my most-embarrassing list. My friend jokingly said, “Have you ever thought that maybe you’re the weird one and they’re the normal ones?”

Had I ever thought that? Not in a million years! But I couldn’t shake the comment. Maybe it’s because deep in my core I knew it might be true, but I didn’t dare admit it. What if I was the weird one? I had always felt different from the rest of my family. The puzzle piece that never quite fit, the incorrect color, the misaligned pattern, the piece that you were sure was in the wrong box. Everyone else seemed to have weird idiosyncrasies, but not me, I was the most functional normal of them all … or was I? This may be a sobering realization, but if you have gone through your whole life thinking you are normal and everyone else is weird, you may be wrong. That actually is the bad news. The good news is: we really don’t know what normal is anymore, so if 99% of people act a certain way and you are the 1% who doesn’t, who’s the odd bird? I realized that it was me.

In a way, this is a liberating feeling, because I can stop trying to be normal and finally let some of my quirky personality shine through. It’s actually fun joining the majority!

You can't get rid of them ... so don't even try

This is one I have learned the hard way. My husband and I had a peaceful life on the central coast of California. We were close to family, but not that close. Some family members I saw once a week, others once a month. When we decided, after our daughter was born, to try and get out of the “rat race,” the only way this was possible was to move to the opposite side of the country, 3,000 miles from all we knew. At one point in my life this would have seemed inconceivable, but at the time it seemed like the right thing to do. Not only would we have a fresh start financially, but my husband would have more time to spend with our daughter and we could pursue other goals.

Leave your family? you say in alarm. But I looked at this as a pro, not a con. My reasoning for taking the first and only grandbaby away from her doting grandparents was this: My parents did not live their lives to make us happy, so we should not live our lives to make them happy.

So we said our goodbyes, and never looked back. We enjoyed long phone conversations and yearly visits. And then one day, things changed. My sister joined us first; next, my sister-in-law; then my aunt and her husband, followed by my mother-in-law, my mom and her husband, my other aunt, my uncle, my brother-in-law and last but not least my grandparents.

When we lived in California, some of these family members lived hours away and were seen about once every five years. But now we were all living within a block of each other, in a town that was not equipped to handle my highly dysfunctional relations. Not only did I have family drama; it was magnified ten-fold, and concentrated within a one-mile radius. Oh, how I missed the “good old days.” I came to realize that, family should be a blessing, but sometimes it feels like a curse. Most of my stress was actually coming from my family!

Looking back, this was the first of many hard lessons I had to learn, but probably the most valuable was: You can’t get rid of them, so don’t even try! When we run from our problems, not only do they follow us (literally), but they actually become worse. Do I regret moving? It depends on the day. What I thought was an affliction now feels like a gift. It has taught me much about my personality and who I really am. And it has taught me never again to try to run from all I know.

They make you stronger

Being part of a dysfunctional family is much like getting an immunization shot. As a parent, you know the agony involved: the dreaded anticipation, holding your own flesh and blood down as the nurse quickly stabs multiple needles into a little leg, the tears, the aches that last for days and the trauma of willfully inflicting pain on your beloved child. So why do we allow it? First, for the stamps that will be required before your bundle of joy can even dream of starting school. And second, you hope the injections will somehow protect your child from a preventable disease. The little amount of a toxic illness injected into the bloodstream will actually make your child’s immune system stronger.

A similar thing happens when you’re born into a broken family. As a child, you’ll experience multiple stabs, many tears, long-lasting aches and trauma that is willfully inflicted by your parents. If you’re fortunate, you may realize at an early age that these small toxic substances that you were exposed to on a daily basis will eventually make you stronger. Better yet, they may help you avoid the dreaded disease in the first place.

I am not a sculpted masterpiece, and neither is my family. We are more like an average coffee cup that has been dropped, broken and glued back together. We still serve a purpose, but you will always be able to see the cracks. I hope that, despite the imperfections, you will still appreciate the usefulness of these lessons.

I am thirty-four, with a husband and three children of my own. Like most of us, my life has turned out quite differently from what I had imagined. There is no perfect world and no perfect family—and mine is no exception to that rule. Despite their obvious flaws, I am forever indebted to my family because of the life lessons they have taught. I have not been able to avoid the dreaded disease of being dysfunctional, but the small toxic substances I have been exposed to on a daily basis have made me much stronger.