Member-only story
I Was Late to My Own Birth
On perpetual tardiness and Caribbean time
I have many desirable work qualities. I’m a fast, accurate writer who can turn a phrase. I’m an innovative problem solver who can identify and fix gaps or flaws. I’m a (com)passionate leader who can motivate people to collaborate on a project. I’m even proficient with both Mac and Windows.
However, I have a terrible flaw, an eighth deadly sin. I can’t seem to improve my nature and overcome this horrible thing, and it tortures me as the words thud through my mind: “Why am I like this?”
I am always late.
Don’t get me wrong — I make my deadlines. But it’s good that I work from home, because if you give me any physical place to be at a certain time, I will rarely arrive on time. The universe seems to throw an obscene amount of traffic in my way. I enter some sort of time warp in which I have an hour to get to the place and suddenly it’s 5 minutes to the hour and I’m just now getting in the car. I push the edges of the speed limit just enough to shave a few minutes.
Oh good, I’m only 13 minutes late instead of 15!
I’m also just perpetually behind on my personal projects. Brilliant(?) drafts languish in my writing app, waiting for the final polish. Social media posts that are sure to win me 100(?)…
