Since before I can remember, my timing has been all wrong. Literally, since before I can remember. I was born a week early. My mom went into Labor on Easter Sunday, while my family was at our camp in the middle of nowhere having Easter lunch. My dad was smack in the middle of a match with a nasty Water Moccasin that decided to wreak havoc on my family's annual Easter Egg Hunt. And that was precisely when I decided that I was ready to grace this world with my presence. And so began my miserable sense of timing.
The day I graduated Kindergarten was a big day for me. Huge. My parents dressed me up in my little, white graduation cap and gown. They dropped me off at the back of the auditorium with the rest of my class mates and took their seats in front of the stage, anxiously waiting for me to receive what they hoped would be my first of many diplomas. At the very moment that I heard my Kindergarten teacher's voice over the sound system, ready to begin calling the names of my class mates to walk across the stage and receive their diplomas, a brilliant thought crossed my young mind. "This front tooth of mine feels a little loose. I think I'll yank it out now." And so I did. I remember the look of horror on the face of the lady who was keeping us in order,as I gave her a tooth-less smile and proudly held my first-lost tooth in front of her face. My gown was no longer a pristine white, but was now coverd in what looked like red polka-dots from a distance. When my teacher announced that there would be a delay of ceremony due to an unforseen incident with a student, my parents looked at each other, and raced to the back of the stage to find me. They were already aware of my terrible sense of timing. I was, afterall, the kid who managed to steal the show at the Christmas pageant by purposely--and loudly--beginning "Away in a Manger" 10 seconds after the rest of my class mates, just so I could have a 10 second "solo" at the end of the song. Timing is key.
I think that it probably goes without saying that I've also had less than impeccable timing when it comes to relationships, as well. Up until 3rd grade, I pretty much ignored the opposite sex. I will admit, there was an episode in Kindergarten where I chased a boy around a tree for a good 10 minutes trying to kiss him, but that was more for the challege than actual affection....and that is besides the point.
In 3rd grade, I met my first "love." We sat next to each other at lunch every day, because our last names just happened to fall next to each other in alphabetical order. We shared our snacks and he understood my already developing sarcasm. He may have liked to eat paper...and leaves on occasion, but I was so infatuated that he almost made me want to do the same. He could do no wrong, and in my third grade mind, we were soul mates. On the last day of school that year, I cried my eyes out because I knew I wouldn't see him all Summer. I anxiously awaited the first day of fourth grade all Summer long....only to find out when I retured to school that he had moved away. I was devistated.
That was only the start of my terrible relationship timing. In fact, that was only my first of quite a list of relationships that inevitably saw their demise because the timing just wasn't quite right for me, or for him, or just in general. I've even sort of made names for a couple of these "bad timing" experiences complete with translations:
1. I-Still-Love-my-Ex Timing: I really like you, but I am dumb. Real dumb.
2. I'm-Having-a-Quarter-Life-Crisis Timing: I am a grown-ass adult, but I would like to pretend I'm in college again. Can I call you when I'm done?
3. I Want to Be with You, Until You Want to be With Me, And Then I Don't Want to be with You Anymore.....Until you Stop Wanting to be With Me Timing: Self Explanatory....Oh, and I am dumb. Real dumb.
That's just a few of my favorites...
I'm just no good with timing....of any sort, really. I have a habit of saying the wrong things at the wrong times...and the right things, at the wrong times. I am an awful joke teller. My punch line timing is always terribly off...and generally more painful than funny. I laugh uncontrollably at the most inappropriate times. And I am never one of those people who just happens to be in the right place at the right time. I'm quite the opposite actually. I'm the kind of girl who can be outside in a crowd of people, and be shat on by the only bird in the sky. Wrong place. Wrong time.
I swear, I have a point with all of this talk of time and timing. Not to get all serious here, but lately, as I contemplate what could be a couple significant life decisions, I've really been thinking a lot about timing. I've always heard people use the phrase "When the timing is right.." but how do you really know? Is there really such a thing as bad timing? If the things in my life that I once considered "bad timing" wouldn't have happened exactly when they did, how different my life could be at this very moment. Call me cheesy, but I sort of believe that everything happens just the way it should. I have to believe that "timing" is right on time, all the time.
I randomly caught up with that sweet, perfect boy that I once knew in 3rd grade a couple years ago....let's just say, the adorable, paper-eating hunk of burning love that I once oogled over, was no longer visible....not a trace. So maybe timing really is on my side, after all...?
So from now on, my perrogative will be to worry a little less about making sure that my timing is just right, and just....go with it. But since when has perfect timing really mattered to me, anyway?
