Waiting: The Cure for People Who Hate to Wait
Editor's Note: Today we welcome Janet Freeman to the writing team! Janet is based in Portland, Oregon and will be writing, amongst other things, about what it's like to live an eco-friendly 'slow' life while living in a city. Great to have you aboard Janet!
The other day I wanted a cup of hot tea. No big deal, right? Only in our house, acquiring a cup of tea means filling a pot with filtered water (a very s-l-o-w trickle from the tap), bringing the water to a boil, tossing in a mixture of herbs and spices and simmering ten minutes. If you're still in the mood after that, enjoy!
As someone who grew up eating fruit cocktail from a can and more than my share of Little Debbie snackcakes, I find cooking from scratch nothing short of frustrating. In college, any food needing more than a three-minute microwave zap wasn't worth my while. I was, and still am, an impatient person. Before long, this impatience had made a mess of my finances. When I wanted something, I wanted it yesterday and seldom cared if I didn't have the money. How else could a student travel to Europe and drink more than her fair share of wine?
By the time I graduated from school and settled down, I knew I needed help. Thankfully, my credit cards never reached the crisis point, but I had become far too accustomed to living beyond my means. And so I read books, consulted friends and financial advisors. I digested new information and learned new things, made budgets and got rid of my plastic cards. Still, my finances were a wreck. That old desire, "gotta have it!" had crept into my blood like a parasite. I wondered what it would take for me live happily within my means.
And then a funny thing happened—Chris and I became slow-lifers. Turns out, being made to wait, day in and day out, for things that normally take no time at all was the best thing that could've happened to a financial mess like myself! Sitting on a crowded bus for over an hour when you could've arrived at your destination in ten minutes; waiting for the dried beans to finally soften after a twelve-hour soak so you can start your burrito-building. It's enough to make a person go crazy! And believe me, I did. If I had a penny for every time I threatened to go buy a car, all my money problems would've been solved in less than a week.
But then, over time the daily doses of deferred gratification changed my way of thinking—and wanting. They taught me that some things really are worth waiting for. And so I started to question myself when I thought I needed something. At first, this applied, ironically, to the small purchases—a food item or luxury soap. But from there, my abilities grew. I could walk into a store, check out a fabulous camera and walk away. Sure, maybe I lingered at the counter for a good hour, talking to the salesman and changing out a million lenses, but I ultimately walked out empty-handed. Soon, I'd become better skilled at thinking about my needs versus my wants. If it turned out I really did need the item, I bought it only after I'd saved the money—something I hadn't done since third grade!
In no time at all I began to see even more benefits to this waiting game. By saving money I was able to quit my job. In our switch from a two-income household to one, Chris and I paid down all our debt, bought a home and created new savings. Soon, I was able to launch the freelance career I'd always dreamt about, and we're now in better financial shape than when we both worked full time!
Of course, it's not always fun waiting for what you want or even need. Recently, I was sick with a stomach virus and our medicine cabinet contained nothing of help. I had to send Chris to the store, which meant a few things. Because I was sick, he would have to take Lucy, which involved putting her on the potty, diapering, getting her dressed (rain gear, too, this is Portland after all) grabbing a bus ticket and checking the Internet to see when the next one was due to arrive. Because we have no car and seldom make it to the store, Chris decided to pick up a few "extras" while there. He also consulted with the store's pharmacist about my ailment.
By the time Chris returned home, an hour and a half had elapsed. Given current conditions, that translated to three bathroom trips and a very frustrated slow-lifer. But when Chris came into the room with a steaming bowl of slippery elm bark (that's right— bark) I was so grateful to have it that I actually ate the stuff. And would you believe after hours of upset, my stomach settled down in minutes?
And so the old me who would've cursed Chris for going to the health food store instead of the drugstore to pick up a quick commercial fix, stayed quiet. Don't get me wrong—it was absolutely no fun languishing in bed, sick, waiting for medicine. But thanks to Chris' circuitous route—a familiar routine for those of us on the slow track—we picked up more than a remedy to the flu, we picked up a new cure in the process.
In the same way, by slowing down and paying more attention to what I need versus what I think I need has taught me the value of my own worth. I now realize the time it takes me to earn the money to buy even the smallest item is invaluable.
Why would I give my time away?
from the story of stuff
P.S. Looking to make a drastic change in your life but don't know where to start? One of the best books I've read on the subject of finance, life/work balance and summoning the courage to follow your dreams is Your Money or Your Life by Joe Dominguez & Vicki Robin. Read it! You won't be disappointed
