Why Do I Always Have to be on Time? My Obsession with Punctuality

By Phyllis Bordo

My stomach does somersaults, and my palms become sweaty. My heart rockets in my chest and my cheeks go cherry red. It’s crazy; I get anxious even if I think I’ll be only a few minutes late. I don’t know why I have this obsession with being punctual.

If I have a doctor’s appointment, I sit down with my dear friend, the Waze app on my i- phone.   I check out the route and   plan my journey to get to the appointment 15 minutes ahead of the designated time. I prefer to arrive ahead of the appointment time, even if it means I’m thirty minutes early because Waze has misjudged the traffic flow and nothing unforeseen has happened. I will wait in my car, listen to the radio, check my email or catch up on phone calls, relieved that I won’t be late.

If I’m invited to someone’s house for dinner, I’m not comfortable doing the fashionably late thing.  Arriving at the right moment is a skill. If I do get there too early, I will again sit in my car until one minute before the start time of the party and at that point I’ll exit my vehicle.  If I happen to get stuck   in traffic en route to the party, I ease the rising fear of being late that is threatening to throw me into a full-blown panic attack, by calling the host and explaining that I’m caught in traffic and that I could be a few minutes late. The irony is, I arrive on time and my phone call and the thought of a panic attack were for naught.

I do abhor tardiness, but if other people are late for an arrangement with me, I don’t get upset. However, if it affects people with me and they start complaining, my heartbeat does double time and panic gnaws at my insides. For example, we’re having a family dinner and one family member or another is late.   The other members of the family have arrived on time. A lively discussion ensues concerning the tardy family member’s whereabouts, which deteriorates to “they’re always late “, and “let’s just start without them”, to ‘choice’ four letter words describing how hungry they are and how they have to “get going”. I try to calm the raging storm but to no avail.  Dread takes over my being until – I’m so grateful when the doorbell rings and said family member enters with apologies and plausible explanations and everyone forgets the preceding turmoil. I breathe again.

Am I punctuality challenged? People who are punctual are considered to be systematic and organized as opposed to being carefree and disorganized. They don’t allow time for the unexpected. I admit that I am systematic and organized as I go through my day. Does that mean that I am not a daydreamer, or a magical thinker because I allow time for the unexpected?  In Lewis Carroll’s, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, the White Rabbit said that he was so late that he didn’t have time to say hello or good-bye. Did he place a higher value on being prompt for his appointment rather than being with Alice, his friend?

To quote Oscar Wilde from The Picture of Dorian Grey, “I am always late in principle, my principle being that punctuality is the thief of time.” He would rather spend his time doing what he wants to do than invest in someone else’s comfort by being on time for a meeting.

As a young mother, I learned to reduce my  anxiety by being systematic and organized to fit in the activities of my three children, to shop, work and to care of the house. We didn’t have cell phones, and pay phones weren’t always accessible so there was no texting or phoning one another to make sure that everyone was in place for their activity. My husband and I had to discuss who was going to pick up whom ahead of time so we both wouldn’t arrive at the same activity at the same moment. And what if one of us was delayed? I would allow additional time for that unexpected event.  I realize I was robbing myself of time spent doing what I wanted to do.  But what was my choice?

If we were late to pick up one of our young kids, I knew my anxious child would start to worry that I wouldn’t come, a fear not based on fact.  That thought would make   my heart spin around like a top in my ribcage. 

I learned very early in my life that in order to calm my anxiety, I must be punctual.  

I am retired now, and don’t have the same responsibilities I had when my children and I were young. I have grandchildren who are growing older, and my children don’t need my help in car pooling my grandkids as much as they used to; if I’m needed, well, I’m not that busy with many other things these days. I welcome the pick-up experience as a way to spend time with my grandkids. 

But I have trained myself, involuntarily, to continue to be punctual. It is ingrained in me like the well-worn grooves in a vintage record that has spun round and round. I think it’s time, in my retirement years, to learn a new skill. I want to become carefree, a magical thinker. I want to stare out the window and daydream for five more minutes without the disturbing thought that I might be late for an event. Who knows? I could become less systematic and even disorganized. That might be a stretch! 

Maybe the White Rabbit should have stopped to enjoy time with Alice. Maybe I should think of punctuality as the thief of time. 

Phyllis is a former high school English teacher. Phyllis has an Honours Psychology degree from the University of Toronto, Ontario, Canada.

She has had an essay published in Horse Sport, Canada and in The Plaid Horse in the States. She has had a non -fiction piece published in the Toronto Globe and Mail on April 13, 2023. She is a member of SCBWI, Canscaip and a member and volunteer at Ibby (International Board On Books For Yonge People), reading for newcomers. She can be found on Instagram @Lillyestherandfriends and on facebook @ Lilly Esther Books.