I used to come in late, every day. It was a bad habit, but it wasn’t because I couldn’t get myself out of bed, it was because I didn’t want to come in early.
Or, on time for that matter.
I wanted to be late. I wanted them to notice that I wasn’t there. I wanted them to know that I could have been there on time if I had chosen to do so, but I wasn’t.
I had a job I didn’t like. I had a job that made my stomach turn sour every Sunday evening for years. I had a job that made me want to come in late. The kind that makes you sit in your car on Monday morning wishing that you could turn around and go back the other way.
“To hell with it,” I wanted to say.
But, I didn’t. I just kept showing up late. Living by my one act of defiance. Believing that it protected me from being “all in” with a job that I hated. A job that robbed me of potential.
Now, I come in early. The sooner the better. The earlier I come in, the better I feel. The air on the way to work smells better than all of the other air that came before it.
I leave the door open when I get to work so that I can continue smelling the air.
The air of doing what I love? Sure. All I know is that coming in late wasn’t the problem that needed solving. It was merely a symptom of everything that had gone wrong.
Everything that had gone wrong with me, and the job that I didn’t love.
But, I don’t have that problem anymore. Now I come in early.
This post was originally published on Medium.com, May of 2013.