WAITING WITHOUT LOOKING IMPATIENT: THE PERFORMANCE OF PATIENCE

We’ve all done it—checked our watch discreetly, refreshed our phone screen just once more, glanced toward the hallway pretending we weren't. Waiting, in theory, is passive. But in practice, especially in public, waiting has become a performance—a balancing act between appearing composed and not revealing our inner agitation.

In airports, at restaurants, in lobbies, outside closed doors—we are often less concerned with the time we're losing and more with how we look while losing it.

Modern society admires patience in principle but doesn’t reward it in reality. We are conditioned to move fast, answer quickly, be available. Slowness is equated with inefficiency. So when we’re forced to wait—on a delayed friend, a late train, a slow response—we feel not just frustration, but exposure. We worry: Do I look idle? Unimportant? Powerless?

So, we act.

We pace—but not too much. We smile at passersby to seem unfazed. We scroll endlessly, not necessarily out of interest, but to show we’re not just… waiting. It’s not just about passing the time—it’s about preserving dignity while doing so.

This subtle performance is even more pronounced in power dynamics. In job interviews, medical offices, or meetings with authority figures, we are taught that how we wait can say as much as what we say. Sit too stiffly, and you seem nervous. Too relaxed, and you risk being read as indifferent. We don’t just wait—we audition our worthiness in silence.

And yet, patience is not absence of feeling. It’s the ability to hold back urgency when urgency would be understandable. It’s a quiet form of discipline. But somewhere along the way, we confused patience with politeness—with smiling through discomfort and shrinking ourselves so our waiting doesn't inconvenience others.

What if we redefined the act? What if patience wasn't something we had to perform to appear gracious—but something we practiced to cultivate presence?

There’s a quiet power in sitting still without the need to prove that you’re okay with the delay. There’s grace in being visibly bored or anxious and not apologizing for it. There’s even dignity in looking impatient when the situation deserves it.

In a world obsessed with productivity and polish, waiting is one of the last places where our humanity leaks through. Our fidgeting, our sighs, our glances at the door—they're reminders that we care, that we expect, that we are alive in the in-between.

So maybe the goal isn’t to wait without looking impatient.

Maybe the goal is to wait without needing to hide the fact that we are.