Let’s get to the root of “island time.” I can speak on this topic because I am an expert. It’s not something I go around touting; rather, I’m a bit ashamed of it. We’re all supposed to be prompt individuals, mindful of basic courtesy, right?
In my head, I’m punctual; considerate. (Gosh, I wonder how many other qualities I am, only in my head.)
In reality, I’m late. Often. Sometimes five minutes, sometimes fifteen. Sometimes half an hour, when I rationalize that the situation is more flexible.
It’s not because I don’t give myself enough time to get somewhere. In fact, the more time I have, the more likely I am to be late.
So what’s going on?
Do I know how long it takes me to walk or drive most places on the island? Yes. Do I care less than I should about common decency toward other people? No. Actually, if I’m late, I hate that it communicates a flippant unconcern. Then am I senseless about time? Not at all. Even without a watch, I have a pretty darn good idea how many minutes I am into each hour. Can I get somewhere on time if my life depends on it? Certainly. Just not if my reputation depends on it, apparently.
I did some deep soul searching. Here’s what I found.
I don’t like transitions. Why? Transitions mean ceasing one thing in favor of beginning another.
Why is that so hard, you ask?
This is why: I love focusing. Give me free time, and I want to really settle into an activity. Not for twenty minutes before I have to be somewhere. That’s a joke. Not for a measly hour in between obligations. That’s a tease. At the minimum, two hours. Even better, three. Ideally, six to nine. Oh, if each day had 50 daylight hours. I could wallow in five different activities for ten hours apiece, including some cushy transition time between each one.
With only 16 daylight hours, how do I deep-dive into anything for very long?
Accepting that one activity must give way for another is like a silent, sometimes unconscious sadness. Perhaps it stems from being a stay-at-home mom for so many years. I gave every minute of myself to my young, homeschooling children for thirteen solid years. Sometimes I didn’t even take a minute to brush my own hair. I still stop all of my projects these days when they get home from school so that they know there is someone in this world who has ample time for them. Having certain hours of the day all to myself that I never had in the past feels sumptuously hedonistic.
Or perhaps it unconsciously stems from a distaste for society’s new norms of constant distraction – emails, texts, messages, and notifications. When life is always punctuated by interruption, it begins to make elongated periods of quiet concentration seem like decadent luxuries that simply must be peppered with mindless tasks that require immediate action. That’s precisely why I’ve never had a phone with cell service.
Aside from all of the love, beauty, and harp music, my idea of heaven is having no more need for the concept of time. Knowing I’ll have an eternity to be immersed in something is a lovely thought.
As you can see, I am not Type A. I have no aspiration to be so. But I do aspire to have a different reputation. If only it meant I had more time. Now that I’ve told all of you this, I’m worsening the reputation I already had. Oh, the pitfalls of being vulnerable. I’d like to think that those of you who already know me hadn’t even noticed my tardiness until reading this.
It’s actually a lot harder on the psyche to be late somewhere. Being early all the time requires that you accept, once and for all, that you will always leave somewhere when you need to. Being late all the time means pushing boundaries each and every instance that you have a transition in the day, and feeling guilty if you blow it.
I was born of two people on different extremes of the time spectrum – an early dad and a late mom. The only yelling in my upbringing happened when my dad was downstairs in the car, anxiously awaiting my mom before she made them both late. How frustrating it must be when early types have to wait on late types who tarnish their squeaky-clean reputations.
A friend of mine recently addressed a meeting with a short, concise preface that went something like this: “I have never liked when people are late, but I’ve tried to be as understanding as possible. A few years ago, I was thinking about one of the commandments in the bible: You shall not steal. When you are late, you are stealing something from the people waiting for you – their time.”
BAM! That one hit me hard. In a good way. It’s probably what I needed to hear. It’s working its way into my denial.
You see, when I read all of this, I think, ‘But I just don’t resonate with being a late person. Is that really me that I’m talking about? I resonate with early people. I can be early whenever I want to be; sometimes I simply choose to squeeze a little more into my transitions before switching gears, that’s all.’ Hmmm.
If you’re anything like me, then all of us island timers think we’re actually early folks who just love life a little more than the other early folks who are actually on time.
Yeah, another fantasy, I can see. Whatever the reasoning is, fellow time thieves, we just need to get our act together.
You can also find this on the October 10th Sun Days column on The Orcasonian here.
