The right time

I am not so sure if there ever is a right time. It’s hard to believe that there is such a thing. Half my life has been spent waiting for the right time and the other half in making up for missing it. I’ve heard this phrase so many times that it has become a habit for me to keep using it to pacify myself when I can’t get around to doing something or if I have forgotten to do it.

As a kid, my parents used to tell me there is a right time for everything and when the time is right they would tell me what I needed to hear. I used to believe them until I realised they were saying that specifically when they found it hard to tell me something or if they wanted to keep it a secret. One thing I realised is that there is no such thing as a right time if you know what you’re going to say is going to put you in a situation you’d rather not be in.

Now if there’s something I need to do or say I just do it because I know if I don’t do it then I’ll probably never get around to it. No amount of time is going to be enough to prepare me for it. Of course, it doesn’t always go well. That’s a risk I’m willing to take. As somebody who is incredibly impatient, waiting is not a game I’m good at.

Lately, I have been thinking and have been waiting a lot for the right time, mostly because I am unsure about a lot of things. In the process, I’ve been saying a little too much or nothing at all. I know it comes from a place of frustration. I can hear my head lobbying its own arguments and it’s tough to understand what I want. I’m not sure what I want and I am even more unsure of what I need. Thinking isn’t so much fun when you’re constantly stuck between thoughts.

I guess as time goes by I am becoming nervous about what I want to do and I feel like what I have in mind might not work out. It’s hard to be in the middle of a shift. Change is never easy. Sometimes when you anticipate the right time, it can get difficult. I think before I try convincing everyone else, I need to convince myself of the change.

I am sure I’ve given everyone including my family the impression that Netflix is my first love and everything in my life comes second. That’s true to an extent. But, I’ve been doing a great deal of planning, colour-coded plans, SWOT analysis and such. I’m not in the habit of revealing my plans to people, I just do them and everybody around me finds out. I purposely avoid telling people about it because I feel like I’ll be scrutinised.

Even if you tell people at the right time, they will first try to convince you not to go through with it before they tell you it’s a good plan. When I told my parents I was interested in Humanities, it was at the very end of 10th grade when I had to hand in a form with the choice of subjects I would study in 11th grade. My parents burst a vein. But ultimately it worked out for them and me both.

I ended up studying at my college on a whim, and it was the same in the case of the decision of which university I’d attend for my Master’s. I made it all look like an unplanned mess, but there were some estimates I made and I didn’t share them. I didn’t want to be told it would not work out. I didn’t want to taste failure before I even tried.

As the questions are now directed more often in my way and I can see my parents getting anxious, I don’t know how much I should tell them. I’ve seen the same look on their faces for years now, a look I know better than anyone else. It’s a look that’s been reserved for me since I told my parents when I was eight, “Don’t ask me to study till 5th grade after that I’ll study.” Even at that age, I didn’t like telling them my plans.

That look is one I’ll recognise anywhere. They see me watching Netflix wondering why I am not sitting and planning my life with them. They see me laughing at sitcoms wondering if I’m doing anything at all. Heart of hearts I know they’ll find out when the time is right. As I get closer to filling the last page of my journal, and my laptop fills up with possibilities I am waiting for when I must tell them and what to tell them.

Nothing about this year has been conventional. Having always been the oddball in the family, whether in my choices or my mannerisms, this is the least of my worries but I wonder why they’re not still used to it. My sister has long since accepted it, but my parents always return with the same expectations.

They sit on the couch throwing me glances, every now then they’ll make a comment in my direction. It’s the price I have had to pay for not doing things their way. They’re the most understanding parents in the world if you ask me but at the end of the day they’re still parents who want their children to be happy and they will worry about that happiness more than their children ever will.

The time will never be right. But I want to do this my way. As my parents have begun planning for 2019, I want to live in 2018 a bit longer. I want to hold off those discussions for a little longer. In other ways, I’ll tell them when the time is right, just like they made me believe they would when I was young.

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