I used to be the most impatient human you'd ever meet. I'm talking about that really impulsive, everything-had-to-happen-immediately type of impatient. I'd tap my foot in line at the grocery store, become annoyed when websites needed more than two seconds to load, and abandon books after only a few chapters if they didn't immediately grab my attention. My lack of patience wasn't just annoying to individuals around me – it was sincerely impacting my quality of existence and connections.
At my workplace, my lack of patience made me a terrible collaborator. I'd rush through projects, make rapid decisions, and get easily frustrated with team members who didn't move at my frenetic pace. In my private relationships, I'd finish people's sentences, interrupt conversations, and generally make everyone feel like they were moving too slow for me. I was missing out on so much because I was always rushing toward the next thing.
The critical moment occurred during a team project at work. I got so frustrated with my colleague's careful, methodical approach that I actually took over the project and finished it myself. The outcome was careless, full of errors, and my colleague was understandably upset. My manager pulled me aside and explained that my impatience was becoming a serious problem – not just for my profession, but for my professional relationships in general.
That same weekend, I was visiting my brother and his family. My nephew was engaging with a baseball video game, and he invited me to join him. I was hesitant – I didn't have the patience for video games, honestly. They seemed sluggish and repetitive. But to prevent letting him down, I decided to play.
What occurred next surprised me. As we gamed, I found myself developing fully captivated by the electronic contest. But I also noticed something interesting – I was unable to hurry through it. The baseball sport, by its very nature, demands patience. You can't force a hit, speed up a pitch, or fast-forward through an at-bat. You have to wait for the appropriate moment, observe for patterns, and allow the game to progress at its own pace.
My nephew, who was significantly better at the game than I was, continuously advised me to be more patient. "Don't hit at every throw, Uncle Mike," he'd mention. "Wait for your throw. Watch the sphere." At first, I struggled with this guidance. I continued swinging at poor pitches, becoming frustrated with every strikeout.
But as we kept gaming, something started to shift. I started learning to wait, to observe, to be patient. I observed that when I waited for the appropriate pitch instead of swinging at everything, I had significantly better results. When I took my time making strategic choices instead of hurrying them, my team performed better. When I remained calm instead of becoming frustrated with errors, I could think more clearly and make better selections.
That end of the week, I went home and bought the same baseball electronic game my nephew had been playing. I chose to make engaging with it part of my daily routine, not just for enjoyment, but as a type of patience training. I told myself that if I could learn to be patient in the electronic game, maybe I could translate that ability to my real life.
At the beginning, it was hard. I'd become frustrated when my athletes struck out, angry when I lost competitions, impatient when things weren't going my way. But I forced myself to keep playing, to keep practicing patience. I learned to accept that not every batting turn would result in a hit, not every competition would end in victory. I learned to stay calm under pressure, to think strategically instead of reacting emotionally.
The longer I engaged, the more I noticed the patience skills I was developing in the electronic game starting to flow into my real life. At my workplace, I found myself more capable of hearing coworkers' ideas without interrupting. I became more willing to let projects progress at their natural pace rather than rushing them. When confronted with frustrating situations, I learned to take a breath, assess the situation calmly, and respond thoughtfully instead of reacting impulsively.
The simulations also taught me about delayed satisfaction. In career mode, building a championship team takes time. You have to cultivate young athletes, make intelligent trades, stay the course through losing streaks. You cannot simply wave a magic wand and create a winning team overnight. I found that this mindset helped me approach long-term projects at work with more patience and persistence.
I observed changes in my private connections too. My spouse mentioned that I seemed more present, more willing to just sit and converse without always trying to move on to the next thing. My friends appreciated that I was becoming a better listener, less quick to interrupt or finish their thoughts. I was enjoying dialogues more, dining more, existence more – all because I was learning to slow down and be patient.
The digital versions also assisted me in developing patience with myself. I'd always been my own harshest critic, becoming frustrated with myself when I didn't immediately master new abilities or achieve my goals quickly. But through playing baseball games, I learned that improvement takes time, that setbacks are part of the process, that patience with myself is just as important as patience with others.
As my impatience decreased, I observed that my performance at work actually improved. Instead of rushing through projects and making negligent errors, I started taking the time to do things correctly. I became a superior collaborator, more willing to listen to others' viewpoints and integrate their ideas. My connections with coworkers improved, and I started achieving better results on my projects.
The truly remarkable thing is how developing patience has opened up new areas of enjoyment in my existence. I found that I actually enjoy activities I used to reject as too slow or uninteresting. I started gardening, which demands incredible patience but brings me so much joy. I started reading long, complex novels that I never would have had the patience for before. I even discovered to play chess, which rewards patience and strategic thinking.
These days, I still play baseball games regularly, but now they're more about maintaining the patience skills I've developed than about learning them from scratch. They function as a reminder to stay calm, think strategically, and let things unfold at their own pace.
Looking back, it's astonishing to realize that video games were the key to unlocking my ability for patience. I used to think that patience was something you either had or lacked – a personality trait that was fixed and unchangeable. But I've discovered that patience is a skill, one that can be cultivated and strengthened through practice.
The transformation in my life has been profound. I'm less stressed, more present, and generally happier than I was previously. My relationships are stronger, my work is more successful, and I'm able to enjoy the journey of life instead of always rushing toward the destination. I've discovered that some of the best things in life require patience – whether it's waiting for the right pitch in a baseball game, nurturing a garden, building a relationship, or working toward long-term goals.
The contradiction isn't unseen by me that I developed patience through something I initially dismissed as a waste of time. But those baseball games taught me something essential: that sometimes the best way to advance is to slow down, be patient, and let things progress at their own pace. And that teaching has made all the difference in every aspect of my existence.