Get me to the church on time*

jhoyer_churchIt’s Sunday!  It’s sunny!  AND, I made it to church.

There’s something vaguely disappointing about my inability to be anywhere on time, after living in Africa for two years.  I know that everything is far from everything else in New York City.  I know how long it takes me to walk one kilometer (12 minutes), how long to bike (4 minutes), how long on the subway (interminable, inestimable).  And yet I’m never in the right place at the right time.

I was late – by ten minutes – for my first day of work.  I was early for a concert last week only because the friend who had bought tickets inadvertently told me it started an hour earlier than it did.  I showed up early for drinks yesterday evening and wished desperately that someone would give me a gold star in recognition.

I was late for church this morning.

I’d like to blame it on the fact that I couldn’t find the entrance.  I found the church in good time, but the door that had that familiar sign – “The Episcopal Church Welcomes You” – turned out not to be the door I wanted.  It was open, and someone was sitting inside beside a table of juice and cookies, but I think I accidentally stumbled into either the Sunday School room or an AA meeting.

I made it through the correct entrance in time for the last verse of the opening hymn.  Not too shabby, after all that.

The service was good.  The priest said something intelligent about Luke 16, which is no mean feat.  I didn’t feel too awkward about the fact that I was constantly lost during the service, since we were using a prayer book I’m not familiar with.  I escaped from post-service coffee with the explanation that I had to go to work, which was true.

Why am I afraid of socializing?

I’ve [mostly] conquered my fear of showing up.  As soon as I progress to arriving punctually, I’ll work on my fear of coffee hour.

Progress, friends.


* because you can never have enough Broadway.


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