The only thing standing between me and inner peace is patience.

Patience gets pictured as endurance — teeth gritted, waiting something out. There is a gentler version that is mostly about not demanding a result on a particular afternoon.

Bread does not prove faster for being checked. A cut does not close faster for being looked at. Some processes are indifferent to supervision, and the supervising is itself a cost.

Peace of the settled kind seems to arrive the same way — not summoned, but no longer interrupted every twenty minutes to see how it is coming along.