I used to turn lateness into an unconscious personal story— “they don’t respect others’ time,” “they don’t care.” My mind naturally tried to fill in the gaps with meaning.
Then I realized, once again, that there could be endless reasons someone is late. It could be overwhelm, time blindness, caregiving, traffic—the list goes on and on.
I became the person on the “other side” of the story—not careless or uncaring, just human. It was an honest mistake. It was a lack of communication.
I first noticed how it felt in my body. I don’t like being rushed. It feels like a loss of control—but that’s another story.
I love how lived experience and awareness change me.
They invite me to dissolve rigid judgments, quick conclusions, and narrow perceptions.
They reveal complexity where my mind once saw certainty.
That realization softened something in me. It created space.
By becoming aware of my own story-making tendencies, I can try to live from a better place—one of empathy, openness, and ultimately, a little more freedom.
