Many Roads Lead to Rome

The other weekend, on the way to the lake, we passed through a small artsy town. Typical to this time of the year, the town was teeming with tourists, which also meant heavier traffic. I didn’t give it a thought. It was a small town in Central Oregon. The traffic could add at most fifteen minutes to our otherwise smooth journey. It was the fifteen minutes my husband would not waste though. Instead of following the most direct route and going through a busy downtown, he found traffic-free back roads. As a result, we breezed through the town without slowing down. On the way back, instead of waiting for an opportunity to make a left turn, he made a quick right turn, followed by a U-turn. Typical hubby.

As usual, I rolled my eyes. What’s the point? How many minutes did we really save with this maverick move? But then I remembered something. For my husband, it was not always about saving time. It was about being able to keep moving. Ideally, moving fast.

“If you rush from A to B, you miss whatever is on the way,” I pointed out once, clearly unimpressed with his driving skills. To my own surprise, he took the observation well and even asked me for reminders to slow down, if he got overly focused on the goal- with the exception of driving.

“I have no patience to sit in traffic,” he insisted. “You are the patient one in our family,” he said. Just, why did it not sound like a compliment?

I did consider myself quite patient though. I would definitely not search for an alternate route to avoid driving more slowly through a small town. I would patiently wait for an opportunity to make a left turn. Ironically, no one in my family found my patience commendable. Dad’s quick thinking and initiative were definitely more alluring to the boys. I drove like a slowpoke. They liked to keep moving.

I had no interest in giving in to the peer pressure. I was not an adrenaline junkie. Preservation was one of my values. I preserved energy instead of using it with little or no reward. But here was the thing. I had no need to keep moving, as long as I knew I was moving in the right direction. When I was not sure of where I was headed, or what was waiting for me at the end of my journey, my patience was questionable. And unlike my proactive husband, I didn't automatically morph my impatience into action. Uncertainty made me equally passive, but more anxious.

And then it dawned on me. Just like my goal-oriented husband wanted me to remind him to slow down when he was getting too focused on the destination, maybe I should ask my husband to remind me to turn my anxiety into something that served me better. For example, instead of worrying if the agent who had requested my full manuscript would accept it, I could edit my book in the meantime, so I could have an improved version ready to send to another agent. Instead of waiting for someone to make a move, I could make a move myself. The very thinking about it seemed both de-stressing and empowering.

Maybe patience and impatience were not so black and white. Maybe, many roads lead to Rome. Lastly, perhaps we can all learn something from one another’s journey and traveling styles.