What It's Like to be Late
In the last few years, my job has required me to be on time. No more showing up a few minutes late to something as I’ve done my whole life. I had to learn how to be on time, which meant actually showing up early. And quite a bit early, at that.
But on the rare event that I am late to something, the feeling is so familiar that it’s almost visceral.
The way it feels: you leave with enough time that you’ll make it, at least you think. And at some point, you hit traffic or the GPS recalculates, or you forget something and have to go back. Then, you realize you’ll arrive in the parking lot right at the time that your meeting is supposed to start. But you worry that you’ll end up circling the parking lot trying to find visitor parking for a while. All of this boils up rather quickly and can turn into road rage.
If you’re walking to a meeting, sometimes you might burst into a sprint and still be late, but now you’re late and out of breath.
I’m glad I don’t feel this kind of stress much anymore (especially now, with quarantine). But I look forward to the time when I am able to feel this sort of feeling again.