When I awake on a normal Monday morning, I’ve got eight minutes
to shower, two minutes to dry myself, five minutes to dress, three
or four minutes to eat some cereal and a couple minutes to pack
lunch. On the way to work, I usually take a five-minute detour for
some coffee.
Those are, I promise, approximate durations. And I know, I could
avoid such tight daily timelines if I just got up 15 minutes
earlier.
I have a reason for my routine, though. By leaving myself just
enough time
– if I hustle – I can feel productive when I swiftly and
fluently squeeze the toothpaste onto my toothbrush.
When I awake on a normal Monday morning, I’ve got eight minutes to shower, two minutes to dry myself, five minutes to dress, three or four minutes to eat some cereal and a couple minutes to pack lunch. On the way to work, I usually take a five-minute detour for some coffee.
Those are, I promise, approximate durations. And I know, I could avoid such tight daily timelines if I just got up 15 minutes earlier.
I have a reason for my routine, though. By leaving myself just enough time – if I hustle – I can feel productive when I swiftly and fluently squeeze the toothpaste onto my toothbrush.
Plus, it mentally prepares me for the day ahead at the newspaper. Once at the Free Lance – hopefully on time if everything went smoothly and my toothpaste didn’t fall into the sink – I’ve got multiple story deadlines and a ticking clock calling my name.
The truth: I don’t really compulsively keep tabs on time during the morning bustle. Believe me, I’m not smart enough to count syllables at 6:30 a.m., let alone add and subtract. But I do rush to get ready and fortunately I’ve become a seasoned pro at my routine.
Moreover, in a modern culture defined by people doing almost everything as fast as possible, I chose a profession with deadline in its definition.
Seriously, this is what it states in my dictionary: “Newspaper reporter – a person who constantly calls important people begging them for information and often frenetically writes news on a deadline.”
Even though I’ll probably work to fulfill deadlines just about every day for the rest of my career, my time-related stress pales in comparison to most anyone parenting America’s 75 million kids under the age of 18.
Furthermore, when I think about a host of other chaotic occupations, my job doesn’t seem so hectic.
What I’m really getting at is this: Time – at all times, it seems – sits at the top of just about everyone’s priority list. Ultimately then, everybody’s whacko, which makes me feel better about myself.
Some examples: Business people conduct reports and make pressure-packed presentations; teachers get under an hour to finish a lesson; firefighters have minutes to respond, without notice, to emergencies; TV reporters have 90 seconds to distort the news; and the pizza delivery boy or girl has 45 minutes to bring my pizza. Or else!
Or else, I’ll smile just a little when I say thank you. Those delivery people are some of the most under-appreciated folks around because they save the rest of us plenty of time and effort to buy and make dinner.
They carry hot, fresh pizza to the doorstep, which arguably makes them more valuable to American society than somewhere between 2 and 98 percent of the workforce.
At college, some friends would have ranked the pizza guy, in importance, somewhere between the president and the producers of MTV’s, “The Real World.”
Kids, too. They keep, or try to keep, daily deadlines. They get a set time to finish homework, catch a bus, play at recess and play video games before dinner.
Most people even keep deadlines while on vacation or during holidays. Two hours to catch a plane. Three days to buy presents. Seven hours to cook a turkey for a bunch of people who’ll devour the bird in 15 minutes, because if they don’t, they’ll miss the start of the football game.
I’m glad you took the time to read this. Now, get to work or do something productive.
