Being Late
Astute readers of this newsletter may notice today is Thursday. For the past three months (!) I’ve been sending this out Wednesdays, but this week Wednesday came and went and—ah, well.
I am often, though rarely detrimentally, late. Growing up, my dad and sister would sometimes leave without me in the morning because I was making them late, too—usually looking for a book I put down somewhere or wondering where my glasses were or what’s the weather and would I need a hat. I’m still this way—ready to go and suddenly remembering, wait a sec!
And while I’ve never missed a flight or a doctor’s appointment or an important assignment, I have more than once sent a be there in 15! text when I really meant more like 30. I don’t relish being a late person! I hate to rush, I’m being a jerk—and yet, I need like ten more minutes, permanently. There’s plenty of pop psychology out there about what makes someone this way—I’m an eternal optimist! No, wait, actually, I’m chronically self-sabotaging! Maybe TikTok is right, and I have ADHD! I think it’s probably all three—plus, I was reading something I wanted to finish, or it was beautiful out, and I thought I might walk instead. I tend to get caught up in the present. It’s not always easy to get to what’s next.
The only good way to be late is when there is no deadline, at least not one that matters. Got a drink at the bar after dinner. Stayed in bed after the alarm went off. Took the long way. Anywho, it’s Thursday. Hope it’s a good one.