Patience is a Virtue!

I know how he feels.

I was born four days early— and it's safe to say that was the last time I ever arrived anywhere ahead of schedule. 

I am what's known as a "late" person. I am tardy to every party. A late bloomer, I was still in my awkward stage until 30. I am late to adopt trends--I was buying my first beeper well after you had your first cell phone.

Yes, I said a beeper. Just go back and read it, and stop acting incredulous. It was 1999.

I'd like to think it's charming, my devil-may-care attitude towards time... but in truth it is very annoying for other people who are not me, but are instead waiting on me. My cousin once told me "I would hate to calculate the number of hours I have waited for you in my life." It gave me some perspective-- but not enough to get me to her house on time.

It's always been this way. It's part of who I am--I am Julia, I am  fromBrooklyn, I am a writer, I am always late, and I am always sorry, but I never change.

I remember when I was a kindergardener, and how chaotic mornings were-- my parents trying to get three kids out the door and up to PS 127 and then get themselves to work on time. There I'd be,  telling my mom I was deciding which velour outfit to wear to school, then sneaking off to go back to sleep in a closet somewhere. In high school I had the option to take the city bus in the mornings, it stopped outside my house and ten minutes later it would drop me off right outside of school... if I took it. I didn't. I always opted to walk, weaving in and out of the random hidden streets near our campus, taking my time and usually skipping first period. Because what ever happens during first period?

My first real job was at Rolling Stone magazine, and I loved it. That magazine meant everything to me as a kid-- my dad got me a subscription one year after he saw me buying it with my babysitting stash, and I think I kept every issue for about ten years. I still tremendously respect their brand of long-form journalism, even though it's now long gone. (You can read my all time favorite RS article in full here, it is absolutely astounding--I read it 12 years ago and it still resonates. I know I am digressing.) I jumped in with both feet to that job. I loved the environment, loved the friends I made. I loved smoking cigarettes in the back offices, I loved sneaking into the library to read old issues, I loved it so much I learned to give tours of the office, which was filled with historic music memorabilia. I loved everything about it. But not even love could get me there for the 9:30 start time.

Even the kid who ate weed brownies at his desk was on time. If you can't beat a stoner...well, that says something. By the way, I just Googled him thinking I'd find the hilarious pic he had on his desk of him and Snoop Dog smoking a blunt, which was featured in High Times magazine, and it turns out he writes for Sons of Anarchy, so... I guess I should't have judged, as I sit here writing a blog no one reads/should read.

It didn't matter how many times I was spoken to about my tardiness, I couldn't make the change. I tried-- sincerely. I really did. I set alarms, I took cabs to subway stations where I could catch an express train. Maybe not in high school, but as an adult I truly wanted to be on time. I hated the stress of it being late. Every morning felt like this:

Yet somehow, translating my want to my actions just seems impossible. The fact is, my pillow always wins.

At my most recent job review, the only negative comment that was made was my lateness. At 37, it was feeling like it was actually affecting my career. I mean, if that's all they have to say that you need to improve, why aren't you going further? Because you're late every day, so you're beat.

What I have learned is this-- employers-- not all and not necessarily my current ones, but many--judge the chronically late the same way--or even more harshly-- they would judge someone who comes in reeking of booze, or who calls out sick on Monday mornings because of too much partying over the weekend. We lack will power. We lack ambition. We are shirking responsibility. We are a liability.

I think it's too harsh, but when it comes down to it, I've never tried to defend my lateness, or even talk about the coworkers who come in later than I do, because in my heart I know it's wrong. It doesn't matter that I get my work done-- and well. What matters is that it is wrong for me to indulge the terminal uniqueness that makes me feel like the 9am start time doesn't apply to me. It's a character defect-- says my therapist. (She's kind of a bitch.)

As someone who has completely reinvented the way I lived (taking the long way out of crazy credit card debt, 50+lb weight loss maintained, booze free, smoke free, buffalo chicken wing free) it makes me mental that I can't seem to change this. All that other stuff was much harder to address.  So WTF is the problem here? Well, I wanted to do those other things. So I've got to WANT to do this.

And so. And so I am trying.

About a month ago, I started a new routine. I've done it before, had stints where I am on time for work, but this time I am worried less about doing it for other people and more about doing it for me. I set my alarm clock for the same time every day (6:30am) and turned off the snooze function. For twenty minutes I have coffee and do my morning prayers, then at 6:55 I either start writing for a half hour or I work out. (You can blame the new routine for the resurrection of this blog.) Then I get ready for work.

So far it's working. I haven't been in past 9am in weeks. I stop for coffee on my way into work, instead of going back out for it once I am settled in, which also saves time. And I am still there with time to spare. Sometimes I even go to the fancy coffee place that takes forever because they steam my milk and like to chat. The folks in my area at work have been cheering me on when I arrive, which is nice. I've actually started liking my coworkers even more because of our little morning chats. I don't know if my bosses have noticed the change but they shouldn't have to. Like Chris Rock said, you don't deserve credit for doing something you're supposed to do.

The level of anxiety I feel every day has dropped dramatically-- I don't have to run and knock over old ladies on my way to work, I can just walk down Lexington Avenue at their painfully slow pace. I am eased into the day, like being born in a jacuzzi. Yes, that's right-- being on time is like a water birth.

I am not fool enough to say I am cured. I would say I am in lateness recovery. I am only one snooze button away from a relapse, but I am taking it a day at a time. And for now, I don't have to feel like this guy anymore.