Transition Anxiety

continued...

Each of us is capable of functioning in either a polychronic or monochronic way. A New Yorker in the South Seas might gradually slow down and learn to enjoy telling time by the position of the sun. By the same token, a Polynesian working on Wall Street must adapt to strict timing. I'm not quite as polychronic as Emma, but even for me, life in America feels like perpetually rushing to five-alarm emergencies in an ambulance pulled by stoned cats.

We polychrones can't help that our attention wanders off in random directions, or that we focus on interesting sensations to the point of total amnesia and blithely forget birthdays and deadlines. We get into every known species of trouble: Colleagues bristle when they're kept waiting, family members wonder if we're lying dead in a ditch. Losing awareness of time seems bizarre to more formally structured minds, and claiming "not guilty by reason of polychronicity" just doesn't wash with, say, the IRS.

The solution to this problem isn't to do away with polychronic tendencies altogether. That would leave the world a poor place indeed -- we'd have to eliminate all 2-year-olds, not to mention poets and snowboarders. I personally think our whole society could use a more laid-back approach, but a massive cultural shift doesn't appear to be imminent, so we polychrones have to find some way to be ourselves without losing our jobs, offending our associates and yammering a constant stream of half-baked apologies. How? We must learn something I call the art of the dismount.

The Art of the Dismount

Emma has spent most of her life trying to force herself to be on time. This rarely works, because it addresses the wrong aspect of the problem. Like most polychrones, Emma isn't reluctant to start Thing #2 but to stop Thing #1. Disengaging from a given activity is the key to living on schedule. By choreographing and practicing the skill of ending, even polychrones can stay (roughly) on schedule, no matter how much we want to linger. I've found the following steps essential to a successful dismount.

1. Accept transition trauma.

"Parting is such sweet sorrow," said Juliet to Romeo, "that I shall say good night till it be morrow." Romantic, yes -- but please recall that both star-crossed lovers bought the farm before reaching legal drinking age. The moral: If you can't stand making the little transitions, you may end up making big ones you don't like. Although disengaging feels to us polychrones like having our molars pulled, transition trauma is brief (it goes away as soon as you're engaged with the next activity), and it's muchbetter than most alternatives. Decide right now to accept the sweet sorrow of parting, rather than the bitterness of being fired, dumped or wage garnished.

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