Sometimes the things that look easiest are the hardest to handle.
I was watching a volleyball game recently when something caught my attention.
One team would drive the ball over the net with tremendous force, and somehow a player on the other side would manage to get under it and send it back. Sometimes the ball was moving so fast I couldn’t imagine how anyone could react in time.
Then, a few plays later, someone would barely tap the ball over the net.
Three or four players would scramble toward it, each seemingly waiting for someone else to make a move. And there it would land, right in the middle of them.
My brother, whose daughter was playing, pointed out something interesting. How was it that these players could return a ball coming at them like a rocket but sometimes struggle with a soft lob that seemed so easy to return? I hadn’t really thought about it before, so I decided to look into whether there was anything to his observation.
As it turns out, there are some interesting reasons.
When a volleyball comes at you with considerable speed, that momentum can actually help you return it. If you position yourself correctly, the ball’s momentum can help send it back into the air. You’re redirecting energy that’s already there.
A soft shot is different. You have to get yourself into position and provide much of the energy needed to send the ball back. And because the ball is moving slowly, you might think you have plenty of time.
But that isn’t necessarily the case.
Players have to anticipate where the ball is going. They watch the opposing players, their movements, and how they’re approaching the net. When someone comes charging toward the ball, everyone prepares for a powerful spike.
Then, at the last second, the hitter barely taps it.
Suddenly, everyone has to adjust. Who’s going to get it? Where is it going to land? Is someone else closer?
And while they’re trying to figure it out, the ball hits the floor.
It occurred to me that life can be a lot like that.
I’ve known people who could handle incredibly complicated situations but struggled with things that seemed pretty simple to me.
I’ve also caught myself becoming impatient with someone who couldn’t seem to understand something I thought was obvious.
Maybe it was a coworker who couldn’t grasp a relatively simple task. Or someone close to me who kept making a decision that, from where I stood, didn’t make much sense.
I would find myself wondering, How can this be so difficult?
But difficult for whom?
That’s the part I sometimes forget.
There are things that come naturally to me that someone else might struggle with. And there are probably just as many things that come naturally to them that I would have a terrible time figuring out.
I’ve met people who were exceptionally intelligent academically but couldn’t fix a simple problem around the house. I’ve known others who struggled in school but could take apart an engine, put it back together, and have it running better than before.
Then there’s what we sometimes call street smarts. The ability to read a situation, understand people, and anticipate what might happen next.
Some people have an almost instinctive ability to do that. Others don’t.
None of these abilities necessarily makes one person smarter or better than another. We’re simply good at different things.
And sometimes the very qualities that make us successful in one area of life can work against us in another.
A person who is extremely detail-oriented might be outstanding at their job but have difficulty when a situation calls for flexibility. Someone who is great at making quick decisions might struggle when patience and careful consideration are needed.
The same person who can handle a hard spike might have trouble with a soft lob.
So why do I sometimes have such a difficult time remembering that when I’m dealing with another person?
I think part of it is that I tend to see things from my own perspective. I know what comes easily to me, and without really thinking about it, I assume it should come easily to someone else.
And when it doesn’t, I can become frustrated.
But there’s something else I’ve noticed about that frustration.
I’m often the one who ends up paying for it.
Suppose someone at work does something that irritates me. Maybe I’ve explained something several times, and they still don’t seem to understand.
I can spend the next hour thinking about it. Maybe I tell another coworker how frustrating the situation is. Then I go home and tell my partner about it.
Before I know it, something that happened in a few minutes has occupied a good part of my day.
And for what?
The other person may have forgotten about the whole thing hours ago.
Meanwhile, I’m still carrying it around.
I’ve taken something unpleasant that happened at work and brought it home with me. Now it’s affecting my evening, perhaps even the way I’m treating someone who had absolutely nothing to do with it.
All because I couldn’t let go of my frustration over something someone else struggled to do.
When I look at it that way, I have to wonder who’s having the more difficult time.
The person who couldn’t understand what I was asking?
Or me, who couldn’t seem to accept that they were having difficulty?
And there’s another possibility I don’t always consider.
Maybe that same person has strengths I don’t even recognize because I’m so busy concentrating on what they can’t do.
Perhaps they’re exceptionally good with people. Maybe they have more patience than I do. They might have an ability to remain calm in situations where I would become overwhelmed.
Maybe there’s something I could learn from them. But if I’ve already decided they don’t have much to offer because they struggle with something I find simple, I may never recognize what they could teach me.
And who loses out?
I do.
There’s something humbling about that.
We all have our strengths. We all have our weaknesses. And none of us sees the whole picture.
I don’t think recognizing this means we have to overlook mistakes or pretend that people shouldn’t be held accountable. Sometimes things need to be corrected. Sometimes difficult conversations need to take place.
But I can address a problem without allowing it to become a source of resentment.
And that’s where I think there’s something in this for me.
I’ve heard plenty about the importance of being patient and compassionate toward others. And certainly, those are good qualities to develop.
But what if practicing patience isn’t just something I do for someone else?
What if it’s something I do for myself, too?
When I recognize that another person may be struggling with something that comes easily to me, perhaps I can become a little less judgmental.
When I remember that I have weaknesses of my own, perhaps I can find a little more humility.
And when I recognize that the person frustrating me may have abilities I lack, perhaps I can develop a little more respect.
None of that necessarily changes the other person.
But it might change me.
I may still need to address the situation, but I don’t have to spend the rest of my day being upset about it. I don’t have to carry it home, replay it in my mind, or share my frustration with everyone willing to listen.
I can leave it where it belongs.
And in doing so, I’ve not only shown someone else a little compassion, I’ve given myself a little peace.
Of course, that’s easier said than done.
Sometimes I don’t even recognize how irritated I’ve become until I’ve already said something I regret. Other times, I might recognize it but have a difficult time letting it go.
I suppose that’s why it’s called practice.
And fortunately, life gives me plenty of chances to practice.
I doubt I’ll ever master patience or compassion. There will always be situations that get the better of me. But perhaps that’s not the point.
Maybe the real progress comes from those small moments when I recognize my frustration and manage to respond a little differently than I would have yesterday.
A little more patience here. A little more understanding there.
Over time, those small changes can make a difference.
I’ll never get it right 100 percent of the time. But neither do the best volleyball players. They miss shots, make adjustments, and get ready for the next ball.
And fortunately for me, life never seems to run out of balls to send my way.