When someone is late, I don’t feel a knot in my chest.
On the contrary, time expands.
That gap becomes a rare opportunity to be with myself.
I order a coffee, jot down a few notes, take in the surroundings.
Until the person arrives, I remain with myself.
In that moment, it’s not the plan that matters, but presence.
And sometimes, the cancellation of a plan is a quiet restoration of the mind.
Being late, or cancelling a meeting, is not a rupture for me.
It’s simply a fragment in the natural rhythm of life.
And how that fragment is received often reveals a person’s inner posture.
I see these moments as an inner recalibration—a quiet attempt to align the uncertainty outside with the stillness within.
Because some moments are not relational, but deeply personal.
And to me, emotional maturity means leaning not on external order, but on inner balance.
Whoever comes, whatever happens…
The real question is—am I anchored in myself?
When meetings are delayed, I turn to my book, not my watch.
I don’t see waiting as emptiness, but as spaciousness.
I order a coffee, observe the world, return to my breath.
Because someone not showing up doesn’t mean I lose my sense of being.
Trying to fit life into precise minutes is like trying to control it politely.
But time is not our servant.
No matter how carefully we plan, the road sometimes stretches, the heart sometimes pauses, and sometimes—nothing happens at all.
And that, too, is part of life.
Cancellations…
I no longer hear “I can’t make it” as a rejection, but as a form of honesty.
And instead of resenting it, I try to meet that honesty with shared spaciousness.
Creating space is not only a gift we offer others, but one we grant ourselves.
When someone doesn’t come, I get to choose how to spend that moment.
Going home becomes a gift to myself.
Or walking alone through a street, listening to whatever music I like—perhaps even dancing a little—can become more precious than any scheduled plan.
Sometimes I ask myself:
Does someone being late mean the whole relationship is invalid?
Does a cancelled meeting cancel out the love too?
The mind rushes to answer, but the heart takes its time.
And I’m learning to trust the rhythm of the heart.
Connecting with someone doesn’t just mean celebrating their presence—it also means holding space for their absence.
Not necessarily without being hurt,
but without turning that hurt into anger.
It’s not about staying silent instead of expressing,
but about speaking from the right place, at the right time.
Because connection is not built through perfectly timed moments,
but through how we hold space in imperfect ones.
And true love doesn’t need everything to be on time.
To welcome someone without resentment when they finally arrive,
To say, “Don’t worry, while I waited I also took care of some things,”
To respond to a cancellation not with cold distance, but with:
“Shall we plan another time instead?”
This is where the elegance of human relationship lives.
Sometimes love is expressed not by doing something,
but by choosing not to.
Not pressuring, not interrogating, not judging.
Reading a book while waiting,
Not sending five messages to cause panic,
But keeping your own inner space intact—so that there’s room for someone else too.
Because we breathe best in the relationships where we’re allowed space.
And perhaps the truest bonds are not built when everyone arrives on time,
but when each person is allowed their own timing.
Maybe this understanding begins in childhood—
those moments when no one came on time,
when we were left waiting, forgotten, postponed…
A part of us then learned:
“If they’re late, they must not love me.”
And as adults, that part still flinches.
It feels like being forgotten all over again.
But now, we can take that child’s hand and gently say:
“This time is not the same as last time.”
Creating space means softening—
for the other, and for the older stories within us.
Not every cancellation is abandonment.
Not every silence is disinterest.
Not every delay is rejection.
Perhaps adulthood truly begins when we can calm that child within us,
and still love…
even those who arrive late.
Because the deepest bonds are not built on perfect harmony,
but on the grace that survives disruption.
Someone cancels on me—I might feel disappointed.
But that doesn’t mean I must set fire to the connection.
Sometimes, waiting for someone even though they’re late
is the clearest sign of inner maturity.
Life rarely unfolds exactly as we plan.
And maturity is not about fixing every imperfection,
but about meeting some of them with calm acceptance.
A meeting falls through. Someone’s late. Someone doesn’t show up at all…
And still, we can remain centered.
Because sometimes, what defines a moment is not what happens,
but how we stand in it.
And maybe the wisest souls are not those who always arrive,
but those who know how to wait—
without turning waiting into judgment.
Gündem / Agenda 