You must first have a lot of patience to learn to have patience.

The Polish poet and aphorist Stanisław Jerzy Lec, whose words often carried the sting of paradox and the weight of experience, once wrote: “You must first have a lot of patience to learn to have patience.” At first glance, this seems a riddle, a circle without end. Yet within it lies a profound truth about the nature of patience itself: it is both the path and the destination, the teacher and the lesson. To possess patience, one must already practice it in the very process of attaining it.

Patience is unlike other virtues. Courage can sometimes be born in a moment of crisis, wisdom may come through a flash of insight, and compassion can arise suddenly in the presence of suffering. But patience grows slowly, like a tree. It requires trials, delays, and long hours of endurance. And here lies Lec’s irony: one cannot wake up one day suddenly full of patience. To learn patience, one must endure the slow process of becoming patient. The virtue demands itself in order to be cultivated.

History shows this truth in the lives of the great. Consider the journey of Nelson Mandela, who endured twenty-seven years in prison. He did not step into his cell already possessing perfect patience. Rather, day after day, year after year, he was forced to practice endurance, to control anger, to wait upon justice. His patience was not given to him but forged in suffering. By the time he emerged, he was not only a leader, but a master of patience itself, capable of uniting a divided nation. His life is the living embodiment of Lec’s paradox.

The same may be seen in the realm of science. The great astronomer Johannes Kepler labored for decades to uncover the laws of planetary motion. Again and again, his calculations failed, his models collapsed, and yet he persisted. His patience was not simply the fruit of genius but the result of enduring disappointment without surrender. He had to possess patience in order to acquire deeper patience, until at last, after long years, the truth revealed itself to him. His discovery was not only scientific but spiritual — that patience itself is the discipline of the seeker.

Lec’s words also expose the impatience of our own hearts. Many say, “I wish to become patient,” but they grow restless when the process is slow. They do not see that this restlessness is the very proof that they lack patience. To cultivate it, one must embrace slowness, embrace delay, embrace the discomfort of waiting. Only by walking through the fire of endurance can the soul emerge tempered and strong. Thus, the journey to patience is itself a test of patience.

The lesson here is timeless: do not despise the slow shaping of your character. If you wish to grow in patience, do not demand that it come swiftly, for that itself is impatience. Accept small beginnings. Practice patience in small matters — in waiting, in listening, in enduring minor frustrations — and these seeds will grow into a great harvest of endurance. Understand that every trial is a classroom, every delay a teacher, and every failure an invitation to patience.

Therefore, O children of wisdom, remember the paradox of Stanisław Jerzy Lec: “You must first have a lot of patience to learn to have patience.” Do not flee from this riddle but embrace it. For in striving to be patient, you are already walking the path. Let endurance be your companion, let slowness refine you, let time be your teacher. In the end, you will see that patience is not a gift given, but a crown earned — a crown that shines brightest upon those who endured the longest.