As Long As It Takes

I haven't been moving very quickly the last few weeks (knee injury). I've felt self-conscious about that, but I didn't realize how awkward I felt until a dear friend of mine came to visit this weekend. We went shopping together (I knew of a buy 1, get 2 free boot sale!), and I was acutely aware of holding us back.

Think about that for a minute. It was just shopping. And catching up. With a very old, good, lovely friend. Going slowly isn't really a big deal, under those circumstances.

I don't have a lot of patience or respect for how long it takes me to do things. This is true in literal, tangible ways, but also in developmental ways. I hate to keep people waiting as I unload my cart at the grocery store, and I hate all the ways I'm still (at 31) not the grown-up I want to be.

I started reading about child development a few years ago when I worked at United Way, and was really blown away by the (totally obvious) concept that children are capable of different things at different ages. Age-appropriate expectations were an entirely new idea. It was amazing. I took such pride in being a very short adult as a kid that it never, ever occurred to me that it was OK not to be able to do something yet.

As an adult, it's also OK not to be able to do something yet. If we're still growing (and heaven help us if we're not), there are steps and stages. Hating slow progress doesn't speed it up; it just eats away at self-respect.

And so, yet again, I'm thinking of Mr. Dail: "In due time, Diana Mary, in due time."