I think we can all use a little more patience. I get a little

Hear the words of Ryan Reynolds, who spoke not with arrogance but with humility: “I think we can all use a little more patience. I get a little impatient sometimes and I wish I didn’t. I really need to be more patient.” In this confession, there is wisdom, for often the deepest truths are not proclaimed as commands, but admitted as struggles. Reynolds reminds us that even those who shine before the world, admired and celebrated, wrestle with the same shadows as every soul. His words are a mirror, calling us to look within ourselves and recognize the battle between haste and calm, between frustration and endurance.

When he speaks of patience, he names a virtue older than kings and empires. It is the strength that waits without surrender, the calm that endures without despair. Yet he also admits his own impatience, and in doing so, he teaches more powerfully than if he had pretended perfection. For what is more instructive than the honesty of one who says, “I too stumble, I too must learn”? The path of wisdom is not walked by those who boast, but by those who acknowledge the work still to be done.

Impatience is a flame: it burns swiftly, consuming energy, scattering focus, leaving us weary. But patience is like water: steady, flowing, carving mountains into valleys, enduring when fire has long turned to ash. The ancients taught this truth in countless ways. A Chinese proverb declares, “The best time to plant a tree was twenty years ago. The second best time is now.” Such sayings remind us that greatness comes not in haste, but in constancy. Reynolds, in his candid words, touches this eternal truth: that life’s deepest joys are not seized by force but allowed to blossom in their time.

Consider the tale of Mahatma Gandhi, who led his people not through sudden fury, but through long years of peaceful resistance. Many urged him toward violence, many grew impatient with the slow pace of freedom. Yet Gandhi held fast, teaching that the spirit must be as firm as stone and as gentle as rain. In the end, it was his patience that overcame an empire, proving that endurance can triumph where haste falters. His story illustrates the very struggle Reynolds confesses: the temptation to demand swiftness, and the power that lies instead in waiting with faith.

The origin of Reynolds’s words lies in the modern age, yet their heart is timeless. For in every generation, humanity has wrestled with the same challenge: to live in a world of urgency and yet cultivate inner stillness. In an age of instant communication, rapid machines, and constant distraction, patience becomes not easier, but harder to find. His reminder is therefore not small; it is a call to recover a virtue that may save our souls from being consumed by the speed of our own inventions.

The lesson is this: do not despise your own weakness when you grow restless, but acknowledge it as Reynolds does, and resolve each day to practice calm. When you feel the fire of impatience rising, pause, breathe, and remember that nothing beautiful blooms overnight. The flower must bud, the child must grow, the journey must unfold step by step. To demand otherwise is to harm the very thing you seek. But to wait with steadiness is to honor the process of life itself.

Practical action is simple but profound: when faced with delay, resist the urge to lash out. When tempted by frustration, shift your gaze to gratitude for the progress already made. Set aside moments each day for stillness—whether in silence, in prayer, or in simple breathing. In these small acts, you train the heart toward patience, and this patience, like a seed, will grow into resilience.

Thus, Reynolds’s humble words become a teaching for generations: we all need a little more patience. Not as resignation, but as strength. Not as denial, but as engagement with life’s unfolding. And in learning this, we discover that the pace of the universe is wiser than the haste of our desires. Be patient, and you will see the miracle of time.