Chronic lateness is an emotionally charged issue both for the latecomer and those left waiting. It can also seem to be impossible to fix, but it’s not. The majority of the perpetually tardy are lost in their own web of turmoil and emotions, their lives filled with harried moments, near misses, and guilty apologies. They are so immersed in their own chaos that they rarely realize how inconsiderate their behavior appears to the people left waiting. They also can get so absorbed in what they are doing, they can lose track of time. If you’re trying to overcome your chronic lateness, you may gain inspiration on what to do about it by reading Natalie’s story.

            Natalie has been late her whole life. As a kid, she never made it to school on time, even though her elementary school was just down the block. At fifty-six, happily married, with two grown children and a successful career, she is still late for work every day. Natalie crams every moment with activity—going to the gym six times a week, lunching with friends, attending dinner parties, and racing to business meetings, weekend brunches, movies, and museums. She’s late for them all.

            Friends tell her she has no sense of how long things take. She’s tried to be more conscious, more sensitive, and makes a big effort to give herself extra time. But she always gets caught up in the feeling of I’ve got to fit one more thing in.

            Her mornings start off the same every day. The alarm sounds at 6:00 a.m., then sounds again at ten-minute intervals until Natalie finally rouses at 6:40. She takes a shower, enjoys breakfast while reading the paper, and aims to leave the house by 7:30, mindful that it takes a solid thirty minutes to get to work. She runs upstairs for some last-minute prep, and by the time she’s clutching her car keys, it’s 7:35 a.m.

            Now it’s panic time. Having denied how long her morning ritual takes until she’s actually on her way, Natalie is suddenly miserably aware of reality. Once she’s in her car, the dashboard clock mocks her. The slightest bit of traffic sends her blood racing. Her daily thirty-minute commute has become, once, again, an anxiety-ridden journey of dread, self-recrimination, and nagging worry. She rushes into her office at 8:10, and the tone has been set for her whole workday.

            Natalie has a vague notion that her rushing, never-on-time style has something to do with avoidance. Avoidance of thinking? Avoidance of something having to do with strong, painful emotions? She isn’t sure. Attempting to fix the lateness issue often means dealing with whatever lies beneath it—the kind of stuff we typically spend our whole lives in therapy trying to get to…or avoid.

            I was hesitant to probe Natalie too deeply (I’m not a psychologist). Still, many of us lead suspiciously busy lives. Fear of downtime—near-panic at the thought of a day or an evening off, or two weeks away from work—is immensely common.

            I pointed out to Natalie that she obviously enjoys her downtime it was the fact that she was sleeping a little longer in the morning and savoring the paper before exiting the house that made her late everyday. Why not give herself permission to enjoy additional relaxed moments throughout the day? How? By leaving on time and getting to places with time to spare.

            We came up with two strategies. The first was purely pragmatic: Counting backward together, we calculated that if she awoke ten minutes earlier and left for work at 7:20 instead of 7:30, she could enjoy that second cup of coffee and not have to feel rushed. My second suggestion was simply emotional food for thought. When Natalie did arrive someplace early, I encouraged her to become more mindful of her emotional reflexes, and perhaps take the first tentative steps toward acknowledging whatever feelings came up.

            Two weeks later, Natalie proudly reported that she’d been two to five minutes early for work almost every day since our conversation, and it felt, well, great to be on time. The one day she got there two minutes late, she was actually mad at herself.

            Did she have an opportunity to reflect on her anxiety, I asked? Yes! Meeting a friend for lunch early one afternoon, Natalie showed up at the restaurant five minutes early, and her friend arrived five minutes late. Natalie had ten full minutes of…waiting. The thoughts and feelings flooding her mind were What if I got the time wrong? What if she forgot we’re meeting? What if something happened and she doesn’t show up and I’m left to my own resources? What will I do? Unused to going things alone, Natalie was aware mostly of feeling afraid—of being disconnected from people.

            It was less important for our work to understand the exact roots of her fear than to accept the reality and give her a practical strategy. Over the next week, I recommended that Natalie schedule activities that would make her feel connected while she waited. Reading a book might not do the trick (too solitary), but reviewing her appointments for the week ahead, writing a thank-you note, or making a phone call might satisfy her desire for companionship just perfectly.

            Weeks later, I checked in with Natalie, and she’d been able to sustain this new on-time approach. She sounded like a new woman, no longer afraid to be on time, enjoying her more relaxed, non-apologetic state. Natalie had broken through to the other side.