Hurry Up (And Wait?)

I’ve always been in a hurry.

Last Friday evening I attended my first theatrical performance since before the pandemic kept me home.  My GPS predicted we would arrive seven minutes before the performance began.  Other than having time to read the program, there was really no reason to arrive earlier, but nonetheless I was in a rush.

I have learned over the years that the journey to an intended destination – in this case my designated seat in the theater – often takes longer than anticipated. First I needed to drive to the theater, then park, then make my way to the theater entrance where I would hand over my ticket and ultimately find my way to my seat.  So, as part of the journey, I always make it a point to enjoy the ride, and not just the moment of arrival.

My habit of hurrying probably comes from my dad who played the French Horn in orchestras that recorded music for movies, such as Around the World in 80 Days.  My father knew that if he was ever two minutes late for work, the entire orchestra would have to wait for him and he would probably not be called back for another job.  He always gave himself plenty of time, so that if his car had a flat tire and he had to call a taxi he would still arrive a little early.

Now I remind myself that arriving three minutes late for dinner is not a disaster.  I even remained relatively calm a few weeks ago when I attended my first football game at the new So Fi Stadium in Los Angeles.  For many separate and unrelated reasons I did not actually sit in my seat until the start of the second quarter.  Grumble mumble.

Normally I would have been infuriated for the rest of the day.  Instead, I was merely annoyed (although I confess to being exasperated earlier when I realized that I would be more than a little late).

I also remind myself that it’s better to drive slowly and carefully, even if it means I will arrive a bit late, than to speed along and risk an accident.  (We all need a workable rationalization now and then.)

Some people live successful lives while being oblivious to time.  My mother was a perfect example of a person who moved though her life unconcerned about how long she spent at any given task. But rushing just for the sake of finishing faster has always appealed to me.

So maybe it’s time for me to complete this blog.  No sense taking more time than I have to.

Alan

P.S.  Five hundred years from now none of this will make a difference.

P.P.S.  Or twenty years from now.