I've always liked heights.

I am phenomenally patient. I think a lot of that is from having absolutely reliable parents, who consistantly did exactly as they promised and made me trust the future. Some of it is probably just my nature. I’ve always been patient. When I was four, I asked my Dad if I could go on the roof. He told me when I was twice as old, he would take me. When I was six, I figured out how much twice was and was relieved that I only had two more years to wait. On my eighth birthday, I found my Dad and told him it was time to go on the roof. He was surprised, because I had never once talked about it in the four years between. I don’t know whether he remembered his promise, but he took me on the roof and it was great. Totally worth waiting for.

I’m not sure whether being so patient serves me well. Maybe if I weren’t so patient, I would have realized that being in a long distance relationship for five and a half years was pure crap. When he told me he wanted to work in another country for a year, the first words out of my mouth were “I’ll wait for you.” But you know what? I waited for a year and a half, and when he came back, his heart was still there. Maybe if it weren’t so easy for me to wait, I wouldn’t have given him the years between twenty-two and thirty and now be thirty-four and increasingly scared I’ll miss having kids. I need to learn more about when to cut my losses, but that’s not my natural tendency. By default I would make plans months or years out, and wait happily in the meantime, enjoying the anticipation of good things.

The flip side is that I get unreasonably annoyed at people who speculate about the immediate future. “I wonder if we’ll find a parking spot.” or “Do you think they’ll be sold out of cherries?” Oooh, that makes my shoulders climb to my ears and my hands clench. We’ll know in a matter of minutes and we can’t know now. Why would you ask? Can’t you be patient for another two minutes? I hate that shit.