Some people seem to place the entire weight of a relationship on a few minutes of delay. As if a slight shift in time could constitute a personal offense or moral failure. And yet, often, nothing is wrong. No crisis has occurred. Just a little change in rhythm.
People can be late. There might be traffic. An unexpected emotional wave. A sudden twist in the day. This is part of living. Time is not a rigid line. It is a presence that flows and bends with the pace of those inhabiting it. Still, when we assign absolute meaning to the clock, the smallest deviations begin to feel like betrayals. But in truth, flexibility is the root of trust, maturity, and meaningful connection.
When someone arrives late, I often see it as a quiet gift. I read. I revisit my notes. I answer long-forgotten messages or simply breathe. That space becomes a moment to meet myself, not a void waiting to be filled with irritation.

Others, however, interpret that same moment as a stage for punishment or criticism. But weren’t we meeting to soften life, to be present for one another? Not to police time as if it were a moral scale.

In human-centred spaces, whether a friendship, a therapeutic encounter, or a professional meeting, the intention behind presence speaks more than the punctuality of arrival. Holding someone hostage to the minute hand rarely nurtures depth. Often it reflects control, not care.
Virginia Satir once said that people grow not through perfection, but through acceptance. When we feel threatened, we become rigid. We hide in roles, defend boundaries, and lose our natural capacity to meet the moment as it is. Growth only becomes possible in the presence of emotional safety. And safety is built not through precision, but through compassion.
There is a quote of hers that continues to shape my understanding of relationships:
“I want to love you without clutching, appreciate you without judging, join you without invading, invite you without demanding, leave you without guilt, criticize you without blaming, and help you without insulting.”
Being late is not always a disregard. It can be a sign of an inner storm. Making space for that without judgment is, perhaps, the most human thing we can do. Those five minutes are not a test. But how we respond to them might be.
I no longer choose to work within frameworks that offer no room for human rhythm. I want to move with people who honour time not just by the clock, but by presence. People who understand that compassion is not the enemy of professionalism.
Because punctuality matters, yes.
But more than that, may we remain human.
How we treat time is how we treat people.
And the deepest form of respect is not control, but care.
The π


