I used to think I had the patience of a saint but it turns out I am in a (never ending) race to the finish line - that is, with myself. But someone once reminded me that the finishing line of life is my own impending mortality. Which is a bit depressing - so I’ve pulled it back to wiggling-anticipation. I’m on the edge of highly impatient; but (hopefully) in the right way. For years I agonised over perfection, obsessed over it and I eventually discovered, while an advantageous characteristic in a plastic surgeon or a professional knife thrower, it's actually a major hinderance as a creative.