The Art of Not Losing Your Mind:
A Recovering Hothead’s Guide to Patience
As we approach 2025, instead of making the same old resolutions — exercise more, eat better, save money — what if we tackled something that could transform both our professional and personal lives? Let’s talk about patience — not as a virtue to aspire to, but as a skill we can actually develop with the right framework.
Being impatient isn’t entirely terrible — sometimes it’s the reason our grocery store finally fixed that perpetually broken automatic door because someone (me) finally sent that firmly-worded email at 1 AM. But mostly, and certainly from a long-term lens, it’s about as helpful as a chocolate teapot.
Speaking from experience, I’ve learned this the hard way in two crucial roles: as a design leader responsible for nurturing creative minds and as a father tasked with not irreparably damaging two small humans. Through these adventures in patience-testing, I’ve had to develop what my therapist calls ‘actual emotional regulation’ instead of my preferred method of ‘barely contained volcanic eruption.’ With their blessing (and minimal eye-rolling), I’m sharing the framework that’s kept me from completely losing my composure in situations that previously would have had me auditioning for a role in a wildlife documentary.
One of the most valuable lessons this journey has taught me is the crucial difference between being decisive and being impatient. In my early days of leadership, I confused these constantly — usually at the expense of my team’s morale and my blood pressure. When I need to make a quick call about whether to pivot a project direction, that’s decisiveness. When I’m drumming my fingers on the table while a team member thinks through a complex problem, that’s impatience. One serves the team; the other serves nobody.
Take these scenarios:
Decisiveness: “Team, we’ve spent two hours debating the navigation structure. Based on our user research and timeline, we’re going with option B. We can iterate later if needed.”
Impatience: “Can we please just pick something? Any of these will work, I have another meeting in ten minutes.”
The first builds trust; the second erodes it. The first acknowledges the team’s input while moving things forward; the second dismisses their effort entirely. This distinction became the foundation for what I now call the Patience Path Framework.
Here’s a charming example from my hypothetical home. Picture this: I’m a parent of a teenager and I’ve recently given them $80 for a concert ticket. Two weeks later, they’re asking for another $80. For the same concert. The same one. Yes, really.
My old response would have been something between “Absolutely not” and incoherent sputtering noises. But thanks to therapy and this framework, I’ve learned to channel my inner David Attenborough and observe the situation with fascination instead of fury.
The Patience Path Framework
(Patent pending, trademark pending, everything pending)
Step 1: Map Their Path
Instead of immediately transforming into the Incredible Hulk, trace how they arrived at this moment of audacity. “What happened to the first $80?” I asked, gripping my coffee mug only slightly tighter than necessary. “Well,” my teenager explained, “I needed art supplies and a guitar tune-up.” “Fascinating,” I replied, channeling my inner Frasier Crane. “Please, do elaborate on these unexpected expenditures.”
Step 2: Balance the Ledger
This is where you play detective, but instead of solving murders, you’re solving why someone’s logic went on vacation. Positive points: Kid is taking art seriously, maintaining their instrument (responsible!). Negative points: Apparently believes money grows on trees in our backyard (note to self: check backyard for money trees, just in case I’ve been missing out on something).
Step 3: Transform Insight into Action
Based on the balance of wisdom versus “what were you thinking,” either adjust your stance or create a teaching moment. In this case: “While I appreciate your commitment to your education and instruments, perhaps we could discuss these needs before redirecting concert funds?”
But wait, there’s more! This framework works equally well in the workplace. Recently, a designer that I’m mentoring decided to completely redesign a project two days before the dev presentation. Without telling anyone. At 11 PM. On a Saturday.
Old me would have started typing an email that began with “Per my last several strokes.” New me:
Step 1: Mapped their path
Discovered they’d had an epiphany while watching “The Great British Bake Off” about how our design was “actually all wrong” and starting from scratch would remove the design debt that was holding it back from a great UX.
Step 2: Balanced the ledger
Positive — Shows incredible initiative and dedication to quality. Negative — Timing suggests judgment may have been impaired by too many episodes of Paul Hollywood staring intensely at crumpets.
Step 3: Action plan
Implemented a “no major changes inspired by cooking shows after 10 PM” policy, while also creating a channel for sharing breakthrough ideas before they become midnight redesigns.
This framework isn’t just about keeping your cool — it’s about making space for better decisions. In leadership, the pause between reaction and response is where wisdom lives. It’s the difference between being known as the leader who makes tough calls when needed versus the one who makes people afraid to bring up problems.
For instance, when a junior designer spends three days perfecting a button animation that should have taken three hours, the impatient response is to immediately shut it down. The decisive response is to understand their process, acknowledge their dedication to craft, and then help them understand project scope and time management. Same end goal, drastically different impact on team morale and growth.
The beauty of this framework is that it forces you to pause just long enough to prevent your brain from going full Jerry Springer Show. It’s like a timeout for adults, but instead of standing in a corner, you’re actually building understanding.
So as you contemplate your resolutions for 2025, consider this: becoming more patient isn’t just about personal growth — it’s about building better relationships, making smarter decisions, and maybe, just maybe, having fewer stories that start with “So my therapist says…”
And speaking of my therapist, they did tell me: ‘At least this will make a great story someday.’ They were right about that, and they’re still charging me to hear the rest.
