I’m someone who is very conscious of time. The hours in a week, the passing seasons and even the ‘waiting’ time that others create within my world. I’m conscious of the ‘wasted’ time which others seem oblivious to.
I seem to move around in my own bubble amidst folk who don’t realise the limited commodity they have available, some may say ‘granted’, to them. When I was teaching, the pupils used to remark that ‘168’ must be my favourite number, as I regularly quoted the hours in each week. To me, 168 denotes the hourly slots I have available to live my life. I can’t argue about going for an hour’s jog when it leaves 167 hours remaining to enjoy a healthy body and eat cake!
Some routines are so ingrained in my life that I don’t notice them or even have to think about their completion. Whilst others, I consciously perform anticipating the end result or the nearing deadline.
I have grown up hearing other people complain, calling me ‘selfish’ regarding my time management, but I refuse to feel guilty for tailoring an existence that enables me to do what I do. The alternative would be a disorganised world which doesn’t appeal to me. I don’t want to spend hours chasing my tail, searching for the piece of paper I had a minute ago or continually remarking to others that ‘I really should do some exercise this week!’ The constant berating has affected my development to the point that I’m a fairly introvert character, rarely relying upon others for support or companionship.
On my travels, I do spot kindred-spirits who appear to uphold the same organised habits, but they’re rare. Their mannerisms, tidy desks, punctual delivery and personas call out to me in passing – these are my people!
My personal sense of fulfilment is more important to me than silencing my critics. An organised lifestyle allows me to complete my work, enjoy my hobbies and socialise, when necessary. If that makes me weird, eccentric or unpopular then fine. I’m simply being me.