Stressed, sweaty and remorseful, I arrived late for dinner again – and then made a life-changing decision | Helene Rosenthal

My friends expected nothing less, but my habitual tardiness was more than just a quirk: it was eating away at my wellbeing

If you had asked me to describe myself one year ago, I would have led with this: I am that person who is always late. I could have also said I am 5ft 7in and love coriander, but then you wouldn’t have been forewarned: being friends with me involves a lot of waiting. Ugh, sorry in advance.

Then this happened. One day, I had an appointment just before meeting friends for dinner. When it ended early, I went straight to the restaurant and waited at the bar for everyone else. Ordinarily, I would have rolled in 10 minutes late, drenched in sweat and remorse. I would have been mortified to be that person, once again, who was the last to show and the reason why our table had been given away to a “complete” party. After blabbering a bunch of lies to my friends about traffic and first-time Uber drivers, I would have spent the rest of the night berating myself for being, well, me.

Helene Rosenthal lives in New York City and writes about families, friendships and relationships

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