Last week, I attended 8 hours of court-mandated defensive driving school. It was my third time in 12 years. My instructor was like if Santa Claus was played by John Goodman and Meg Stalter’s child. The fluorescent lights fatigued me in a way that required me to take a nap in my car with the AC blowing for an hour and a half. I didn’t like emitting so many carbon emissions, but I justified it by feeling sorry for myself.

At 4:30, when the class was over, our instructor called us up to his desk individually to hand us our certificate stating we served the court system.

“Ahn-dre-uh Lee. Just kidding, I know it’s An-dre-uh, but you have a sophistication I can’t ignore,” Clarence chuckled like a mall Santa. It wasn’t worth reminding him that he mispronounced my last name as well.

I’d never been referred to as sophisticated before, and I pushed my shoulders back as I walked up to his desk. The sweater around my shoulders slipped to the floor.

“And you’re going to be patient from now on, right?” Clarence asked as he teased my certificate stating I served the court system closer to his chest. As if my answer would determine whether I kept my driver’s license.

Growing up, I loved “The Children’s Book of Virtues”. It was big, like an encyclopedia or dictionary (other books I loved). I liked the illustrations and how most of the stories rhymed. What I didn’t like was the virtue of patience.

I didn’t like being reminded that I needed to have patience. I didn’t like waiting. I didn’t like commercials between my Rugrats episodes. I didn’t like not being able to jump in the pool as soon as we arrived. I didn’t like hearing instructions before I started an activity. I didn’t like the long car rides between my parent’s houses. I wanted what I wanted and I wanted it now.

This is pretty much everyone’s gripe with only children. They think of us like Veruca Salt, stomping our feet, impatient and spoiled, turning into blueberries.

I was not a child who always got her way, but rather, I was a child who expected certainties. I wasn’t a kid who wanted a lot of “things”, so there weren’t a lot of explosive meltdowns over toys. (Okay, there were some explosive meltdowns at the Limited Too counter over clothes, but introduce me to any girl who says they didn’t have one there and I’ll introduce you to a liar.)

I expected nice snacks, and quality time, and ease in my everyday life. And I expected that after I waited, I would get what I wanted.

Last Christmas, Meredith gifted me an hour with a medium. He was a childhood friend of hers and someone she spoke to often (as medium and as friend). Our first call was in January.

“So before we begin, I need to tell you about some omens I’m experiencing,” I said to Jesse. He’d barely gotten out a hello.

“Wow, okay, that’s a lot!” He laughed after I finished explaining my ex, and shattered glass, and birds that had been vying for my attention. “Let’s take a moment to breathe together.”

Jesse is handsome with piercing blue eyes and a sweet voice cadence; earnest with a hint of sass. This makes it easy to trust him while also not feeling like I’m being bullshitted. He calls you in while also calling you out.

When he pulled my tarot cards, the message was clear: “Your spirits are wanting you to be patient.”

I had to bite back tears. Didn’t my spirit guides hear me? Weren’t they watching? Didn’t they know it was time? How long I had been waiting? What I expected?

500 Days of Summer came out the summer I turned 19 (not pretty). I was in love. I was in love with Joseph Gordon-Levitt. I was in love with the soundtrack. Emily and I would blast it in our college cottage. We would liken ourselves to Zooey Deschanel. We would say “I love The Smiths” to boys we liked with no sense of irony. I would write about the expectations/reality scene for my college thesis. (Sometimes I think about rereading it, but instead I choose to live another day.) I developed this odd habit of every time I wouldn’t get what I wanted, after waiting, after expecting, like a Pavlovian response, I would sing in my head “Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want” by The Smiths.

A habit I’ve yet to break.

In July, I had another reading with Jesse.

“A bird flew through my fireplace chute, and I thought of you, and then you called me for a reading! How crazy is that?” he said.

“Well, wait till you hear about the birds this time,” I said to him.

He stopped shuffling his animal deck and held an owl to the screen.

“Jesse!” I squealed like Lucille Bluth every time she is surprised by Gene Parmesan’s bad disguises.

When he went on to pull my tarot cards, the message was clear: “So imagine you’re on a shore looking out at sea and there is nothing on the horizon, no ship of any kind. Nothing close to the harbor.”

This time, I let the tears fall while I laughed with him. “They want me to be patient?” I asked.

“They want you to be patient,” he said.

The spirits weren’t aligned with my expectations.

In 500 Days of Summer, Joseph Gordon-Levitt attends a party thrown by his crush (and ex) Zooey Deschanel. The scene plays his expectations of the night in a split screen with the reality of the night. If you haven’t seen the movie, you can probably guess that it doesn’t go according to his ideations. If you’re a yearner like me, you watch it, see too much of yourself, get embarrassed, and write a 20-page paper on it to prove you’re smart instead of a pathetic romantic.

Perhaps this is too much of a reach, or maybe just a glimpse into the tangles of my synapses, but that scene symbolizes patience to me. Or rather, what I need to learn from patience. Endure, even. I make hasty decisions because of how I expect things to go. Instead of letting things play out, my fear of disappointment tries to control the situation (read: my expectations). I don’t want to tolerate or sit in disappointment (read: be patient).

And these expectations are built on imaginings in my head. Yearnings and daydreams. I’m not even admitting what I want from reality because asking for what you want is so embarrassing. I’d rather look in control than look like a fool.

But control doesn’t work. And I always have a better time when I let go and allow things to unfold naturally. (Let go and let God much?) And yet! Perhaps it’s being Type A, perhaps it’s being a Virgo, perhaps it’s being a Child of Divorce TM; I can’t help holding onto my imagined control of my imagined scenario!

My spirits aren’t wanting me to keep waiting. Waiting implies an expectation. Expectations imply a reward. My spirits are wanting me to surrender and embrace uncertainty.

In my defense, this has been my most patient year yet. LOL (I’m like, but actually I have been patient and here is my 20-page thesis on how and why I deserve a reward.)

Areas that have made me slow down and (try to) detach myself from desired outcomes:

• improv

• two Type B best friends

• genuine love and respect for another in a relationship

• a slowdown in work and income

• this summer’s heat index

• softness in my body

• getting my heart broken

• saying no

• boiling sugar water for my hummingbirds and letting it cool before refilling their feeder

I was going to say patience will always be my least favorite virtue, but then I looked up the virtues, and I was like, wait, chastity? LOL And now I’m like wait? (I never do!) Should we even have virtues? lol jk jk

Patience will always be hard for me. My first instinct will always be to jump the gun, to dive in headfirst, to send a sea of blue texts, to expect. But I'm trying. To breathe before jumping in, to accept, to receive. I’m trying to untether myself from expectations. I’m trying to stay rooted in reality.

“Oh my god, patient, yeah, of course!” I said to Clarence, and as he handed me my certification letter, he winked at me like a mall Santa.

I started to rush out the door when my name was mispronounced, “Ahn-dre-uh, don’t forget your sweater!”

I ran back in, picked it off the floor, and then walked measuredly to my car. Slow, even. I admired the sheriff’s office parking lot as I rolled the windows down (climate change warrior!), and waited in a long left-hand turn line of traffic. When it was finally my turn, the light turned yellow.

I sped through.

I said I was trying.

How I’ve been practicing patience:

• trying to get 1,000 followers on Instagram so I can go live (follow me @amley90)

• evening walks with a fall chill

• managing expectations around my birthday

• wearing outfits that look like they came from Limited Too

• crashing out

• Seven Sundays Sunflower Cereal Real Cocoa

• The Spotify messaging platform