Running Late Triggers Me

I was late this morning. I pride myself on punctuality because a Virgo stellium raised me with a Capricorn rising who never adhered to time but expected perfection from everyone else. So I was late beyond my usual 15-minute grace period, and my anxiety kicked in.

We talk about surrendering to things that are out of our control. A car fire was not in my control. The number of drivers congesting the highway was not in my control. But waking up early was. Leaving the crib early was. I could have left at 6:30 am, but I didn’t.

There was something in me that didn’t sit well with the fact that I’d have to spend two full hours commuting for any job, which has become a conflict of interest for my professional life.

I did not want to give up so much of my time to a commute for a gig that was not worth the sacrifice required on a cold winter morning.

I am already sleep-deprived and have begun to backtrack. If I had left earlier, that would have required going to bed earlier, which would have required getting in earlier the night before, which would have meant leaving the gig earlier, which was not an option.

So guilt is a cycle that persists, and the only payment required is one’s sanity.

I felt guilty for being late but not guilty enough to change my lifestyle.

Hence, my dilemma.

I don’t have an answer for guilt. I hate being late, but I don’t need to sacrifice my wellness to accommodate other people’s schedules.

I don’t make for a good worker anymore. While I get the desire to be complacent with one’s work culture, I am not a person who wants to be productive for anyone other than myself.

Extending myself grace has been difficult. The disconnect I feel with so many of the people I used to call peers is rooted in this fork that I took away from their approach to life. I don’t want goals. I don’t want to be productive. I don’t want to hustle. I don’t want to feel like I’m contributing. I don’t want to be part of a team.

I want to exist and feel like that is enough on its merit.

Being late triggers me in many ways. It reminds me of the perfectionism I fight against. It also reminds me that time is relative. We have “all the time in the world,” but we don’t. And as a late bloomer in so many areas, I don’t particularly appreciate feeling behind, whether for work, play, or life.

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