It's an unusually warm day in the middle of June. I'm sitting in my dad's recliner, enjoying the comfort that comes with lounging around in a big chair and taking up space. It's been almost a week since I moved back from school. Everyone, myself included, can feel the onset of signature summer laziness, which means there have been many afternoons spent in this exact spot, watching true crime shows on TV and not much else.

By 'not much else' I mean any little thing I can do to occupy my hands. Sometimes it's playing with a stress ball. Sometimes it's scrolling through my phone. Today it's pulling out my macrame board and embroidery floss to knot together a friendship bracelet. I haven't made one in years if I remember correctly, but it's just like riding a bike. I let muscle memory take over as I split my attention between the colorful threads in front of me and the gruesome murder scene plastered across the television screen.

My mom is sitting next to me. She's mostly focused on the show as it unfolds, but every now and again she looks over at what I'm doing. At one point, she gets up and trails a finger along my work, commenting, "Very pretty. You know, I have no idea how you're able to sit and do that for so long. I don't have the patience for that kind of stuff."

This catches me by surprise. It doesn't feel like I've been sitting and working for long, but the bracelet really has blossomed into existence under my focus. I nod, not really sure what to say.

Maybe I make a snappy retort, maybe I make a pun, maybe I just mumble out some sort of acknowledgment, but there's really only one word lingering in my mind:

Patience.

I've never thought of bracelet-making as a patient activity. It's fun for me to do, so I do it. Sure, it might take a while to reap the benefits of my practice, but that's just standard fare. I can't expect that something I make will be done as soon as I start working on it. If I could just will things into existence, I would have a lot more stuff, but it wouldn't be nearly as fun or rewarding.

That got me thinking about all the others things I do that might be considered patient activities. I like to knit and crochet, two things that take as much time as they do yarn to complete. Writing is a passion of mine that comes with its own long process to completion. Baking requires a surprising amount of waiting that I've never even realize was there. It all just seems built-in. The activity and the time needed to finish it are so intertwined that I don't even recognize the distinction anymore. They exist together so seamlessly that I can't see them as anything other than the same thing.

Do other people not think about it that way?

Many people have praised my patience over the years. Somehow, they think it so impressive that I'm able to dedicate myself to something for long periods of time. I've heard this from people of all ages, too. Friends, parents, grandparents, they've all taken notice of this. But why? Is it truly so astounding?

Over and over, I've seen the saying, 'Patience is a virtue.' If that's the case, then I'm forced to wonder why more people haven't taken to it.

We all know that patience is a wonderful thing to practice and employ, so why am I regarded as a rarity instead of as the standard?

One guess I have is that we live in a world where people expect instant gratification. We push buttons on our phones that make things happen immediately, and when there is a delay in our expected outcome. We quickly grow frustrated. I know that I've been guilty of this on multiple occasions. However, I hesitate to name this as the sole cause because, despite my attachment to technology, I have not been deterred from enjoying patient activities. I feel like there must be other influences over our relationship with patience.

Another idea I've been tossing around is that we have a strange disconnection from the source of our goods. One clear example of this is being unclear about where the food we eat comes from. My last roommate took a class where she visited farms and learned about sustainable agriculture. As she told me about it, I couldn't help but think, "Wow, roughing it out on a farm? I could never see myself doing that."

And I couldn't. I really couldn't imagine myself in that situation because I'd never experienced anything close to it. I've had a few plants and a raspberry bush that I've terribly neglected, but beyond some simple gardening, I've never attempted to grow my own food. I have no idea what kind of work goes into it, and I'm honestly not sure that I could ever figure it out myself.

Does that sound familiar at all?:

"You know, I have no idea how you're able to sit and do that for so long. I don't have the patience for that kind of stuff."

I have the feeling that there is a gap between the people who create things and the people who consume those things. We see beautiful paintings, delicious plates of food, gorgeous photographs. But while we admire and respect them, we don't always think to ourselves, "You know, if I put my mind to it, I could do that, too."

More often than not, we doubt our ability to make amazing things based on really fundamental qualities that we don't think we have.

"Oh, I'm not patient enough for that."

"I'm not brave enough to pull that off."

"I would, but I don't really have the ear for it."

You know what I'm hearing?

Excuses.

You are patient enough. You are brave enough. You do have what it takes.

The only thing holding you back from doing something is your own preconceived notions of who you are and what you're capable of.

Maybe you won't be perfect at it on the first try. Who is? The point of engaging in something is to have a good time and try to improve yourself as you go along. You shouldn't refuse to do something because you don't think you could do it. If you like it, do it. If you don't, don't.

Close the gap. Don't let fear and hesitation keep you from doing something great.