Photo by Andy Beales on Unsplash
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In her Granta essay, Running Behind, author Stephanie Wambugu reflects on her relationship with (a lack of) punctuality. Weddings and church services are specifically noted in the piece – no surprise to anyone who grew up in an African context.
As someone who is fiercely protective of their time, tardiness has been a bug bear of mine for as long as I can remember. For about a year or so in my late twenties, I even went through a phase of setting my watch five minutes early just to not be late. What I quickly finds out though is that it was an exercise in futility. Turn up on time at an event early, or on time, enough times without others reciprocating and one learns to go with the flow, the time noted on invitations becoming mere advisories and tardiness becoming self catalysing.
Much as I would like to claim my earlier enthusiasm for arriving (and leaving) on time is unabated, I am finding lateness is creeping back into my life, thanks to kids. There is only so much remonstrating with a five year old one can do before realising it is a Sisyphean task on a good day, and a highway to hell on the worst. Arriving on time very much falls on the things I cannot change sector of the serenity spectrum I am finding, for which I am learning acceptance.
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