Sunday, April 3, 2011
I always plan on getting up earlier and getting going earlier and arriving to things earlier in my life. This rarely happens. When I was growing up I was late to everything. Really, though, I have no one to blame but my mother. I can remember often being the last kid picked up from basketball practice. I would sit in the back lot of Southeast Junior High on the wooden ledge surrounding the landscaping. Nate, the ginger would eventually saunter off to to his mom’s mini van. Nick, the post puberty seventh grader would say, “Sorry man” as he walked away to freedom. I would be left by myself when the coach walked by closing up the building and offered a, “You want me to hang around and wait?”
Eventually, my mom would make it, and I’d jump in the gold Taurus wagon. She had other Houghton kids to pick up as well. I couldn’t fault her too much. However, she did not instill in me a great sense of punctuality. My friend, Matt, and his dad would drive me to school in the morning in those days and they would be sitting in the driveway honking the horn as I would grab my lunch, throw my shoes on, and forget to zip my fly.
Yet, I always struggle to get things done quickly and efficiently. Just when I’m about to finish something, I find a good reason to be interested in something else. This happens in small ways, like this morning when I went from planning to shower and ride my bike to church, to not shower and ride my bike, to shower and drive, to not shower and drive, to not shower and drive and be fifteen minutes late. Most things in my day happen later than I plan.
It also happens in big ways like, waiting five years to propose, getting braces at 28, or moving to Hollywood at 32.
I get there…eventually.