You’re impatient with everyone else. You yell at other cars in traffic who don’t move up fifteen feet. You’re impatient with the old lady who’s writing a check in front of you at the cashier. You’re impatient with your roommate, or your girlfriend, or your children, who don’t do as you would.
Why aren’t you impatient with yourself? With how fast you’re getting things done? With where your life is headed? With how much time you’re wasting?