I can be a little impatient. Just ask my husband. He endures it when I jut my arms out over his in the kitchen sink when he’s in the middle of washing dishes. Perhaps I sometimes wiggle my way into his lap to check my email even though he was there first. Please do not even ask him about my impulse to get out of the car a split second before the wheels quit rolling. However, today as I rode down the elevator for the first time in quite awhile I realized my impatience has some inadvertent health benefits. In my haste, I rarely bother waiting for the sluggish elevator to carry my up three flights. Instead, I bound up and down at my own pace. I frequently walk from the farthest spot because I cannot stand dawdling around a parking lot waiting for something better. Okay, so maybe that’s all I have so far, but perhaps a few extra steps a day can outweigh the annoyance of constantly having the microwave shine 0:01 because I just could not wait one more second for my dinner.