I’m a big believer there’s a right time for everything. Like on Sunday: Usually I head out the door for my long run no later than 8:30 a.m. But this past weekend, the cold, dreary weather—and the prospect of 14 miles—kept me inside with the kids until almost 10:00 in the morning. I didn’t feel like I was procrastinating. I felt like I was just waiting for the right moment to set out. The last two times I had that distinct feeling, I ended up randomly running into Ellison and Monica, good running buddies, mid-route. On Sunday, my delayed start allowed me to cross paths with my former running coach. If I’d run earlier, we never would have had a fun chat at mile 3.5, which brightened my run considerably.
I often work under my right-time-for-it belief. Last week, I had a big-deal deadline for the New York Times that should have had me jumping on my computer as soon as our nanny arrived. Instead I found other things to work on (and peruse!) until late in the day. Some innate sensor in me, fine-tuned from 10 years of freelance writing, told me it wasn’t the right time to write the article. Finally around 4:30 in the afternoon, I started typing and the story flowed. Instead of laboring over it for hours, I was done with the story in 45 minutes. If only all of life could be so simple.