Patience is a virtue. As virtues go, I am dreadfully short on several of them, and patience seems to be one of the more difficult for many. No one likes to wait. Daniel Goleman, in his book Focus: The Hidden Driver of Excellence (Copyright 2013 Daniel Goleman, HarperCollns Publishers) notes, “In some ways the endless hours young people spend staring at electronic gadgets may help them acquire specific cognitive skills. But there are concerns and questions about how those same hours may lead to deficits in core emotional, social, and cognitive skills.” And our ability to wait, our patience, is one of those core skills. Goleman continues, “Our focus continually fights distractions, both inner and outer. The question is, what are our distractors costing us?”

I’m a late-comer to the world of the smart phone; I was incarcerated for ten years and missed out on much of the world’s technological advances. And this was particularly difficult for me, having worked in computer software for the previous ten years. But one of the great lessons one can learn in prison is patience. Patience is a luxury of those who have time, the one asset of which I had plenty in prison, but is so rare in the “real world.”

Many people, after their first meditation session, seem to be looking for the immediate effect. “I’ve invested ten or twenty minutes here, and what did I get out of it?” It may seem like we get nothing out of it at first, but slowly, over time, with patience, we begin to see the fruits of our investment, and one of those fruits is… patience.

I’ve just returned from a visit to Corcoran State Prison here in California. I had visited Monroe once before, and we continue to write. Monroe was in the “SHU” (Secured Housing Unit), a sort of prison within prison. It is a place for those prisoners being punished for crimes committed whilst in prison (as if prison was not enough punishment in the first place).

I’ve been awaiting Monroe’s release, which was scheduled for the next year or two. Now, it looks as if he may be in for another eight years. It’s difficult for many to deal with this kind of frustration. I’ve known men who lost their sanity shortly after losing their prison release dates. Monroe takes it in stride. He wants to get out, but he accepts that it may take a while longer. It may take a little more patience.

On the last day of the visit, I sat in the waiting room watching the friends and families of prisoners. They were waiting for their visits, and most were waiting for the release of their friends or family members. When Monroe’s name was called, I got up and made my way through the metal detectors and automatic gates, past the electric fence, to the visiting room. I recognized the guard at the desk, and he recognized me. He asked how long I had been in prison, and I told him that I was there for ten years. The visiting room was crowded, and the guard noted that I had been let in a little late due to the crowding. He asked, “Did you have a long wait?”

I smiled. “Not nearly as long as my wait to get released.” He nodded in understanding, but he only partially understood. I didn’t mean my release from the physical prison as much as I meant my release from my self-made prison. And that release came from perseverance and patience. And that perseverance and patience came from meditation.

James Bishop is the International Coordinator for Meditation in Prisons