Patience to create a cove of friends, a real flock if you will, not a dreaded "network."
Patience to find genuine people to go out on the town, or the really specials one to spend the night in.
To wait for the winning pitch even if that means sitting until midnight, although it may never come at all.
Patience to wait for the bands that really matter, trusting good luck and fair judgment to find the right unknown legend to spend a night with.
Patience to scramble across town in hopes that you will be able to get in.
To sit on the 405 and wait for traffic to start moving.
To find the person who will get your name on the guest list in advance.
Patience to fight through security checkpoints, and wait for checked luggage. Even when said security drops panties on the floor in public (true story).
Patience to wait for the position of recognition that all career-oriented people strive for.
To break the devastating stories, whether good or bad, and speak with people who make a difference that I can believe in.
To write for a liberal magazine about artists and politics and sustainability in the garden...so I'm not picky on that part.
Patience to sit inside on a warm day with full sun and write that novel that is itching your fingertips.
Patience to trust your instincts when others say your wrong.
To know when you must, because you are right.
But mostly L.A. has taught me appreciate the people that don't care about a status or a faux paux or an accidental step backward on the corporate ladder.
It taught me to love fresh water and fresh air.
To not let the prickling in my toes turn in to anxieties about my future, or my rent, or the one who got away. Or even the what-ifs and the somedays.
If I am ever going to be the stringent editor scrutinizing the latest legislation on mandated sustainability requirements, while my breath-taking significant other waits with dinner at home, I must be patient.
Patience is just one of the many dwindling resource these days, so better not squander.
