The value of time, and being stood up

I spend two minutes, five minutes, ten minutes… staring into my own eyes in the Zoom window. Or the server stops by my table to check on my lonesome self yet again, despite my assurances that I’m waiting for someone.

That someone isn’t going to arrive. I’ve been stood up.

I’ve been a socially aware human for more than 40 years. Yet it’s only recently I’ve begun to be able to anticipate and process through that sinking, frankly s***ty feeling that would come over me when the other person doesn’t show.

If you can relate, you’ve had this feeling before. Maybe you even had it a little when I described it just now. Mine came from way, way back in my personal history and had an unfortunate resurgence only a few years ago.

The origin story

I was a shy, socially awkward only child without a lot of friends. A play date, or later a hangout, was a chance to do something different for a change. To spend a little time in another family environment. To engage with a world beyond that of my own imagination. I got to look forward to feeling seen, and chosen. And not infrequently, I’d make plans with someone only for them to stand me up.

The reason doesn’t really matter. Kids are kids. They forget about chores, they get grounded, they get fickle. But that lonely 8-year-old, sitting at the end of his driveway and looking at his watch, never really left my side. He taught me a lot about the value of other people’s time versus the value of my own, a lesson it took me decades to start unlearning.

The story continues

Flash forward to 2018, when I started my coaching career but was still working a full-time job. I had to line up some clients, and I had to get them to show up for their sessions as scheduled. If they didn’t show up, I wouldn’t get the hours I needed for certification. I’d have taken an hour of PTO from work, or set aside some evening family time, for no reason. I’d have to try to reschedule when I didn’t have a lot of extra slots on my calendar. That’s a lot of pressure to put on a newbie coach and a burden on a client relationship too. In short, I needed their time more than they needed mine. 

After Peaceful Direction became a full-time endeavor in 2019, I worked in a number of contract coaching environments. I got paid by the hour, after the fact, for these. So I just set up my private practice the same way. And I found myself making up stories during the few, but significant, client no-show moments. 

“They don’t value my time.” 

“I’m not offering them something compelling enough for them to come back.”

“I should be able to help them break through their busyness and want to be here.”

And of course, I wouldn’t be getting paid if I didn’t conduct the session. How about a nod to my insecurities and a threat to my livelihood in one tidy package? This is when I realized I needed to make some changes.

Change one

The first change was purely procedural. I needed to protect the value of my time better. I now contract with companies that allow me to charge full price for a last-minute cancellation or no-show. 

In my private practice, I stopped charging by the hour. My agreements with clients now include language stating that they’re paying me to be available for coaching as well as for coaching itself. So, a late-canceled or no-show session usually counts as a completed session. If it’s a first-time occurrence or a true emergency, I’m happy to extend a little understanding and reschedule it.

Change two

The second change was one of perception, and it’s still a work in progress. It has to do with me saying to myself, and reinforcing, the idea that being stood up probably has very little to do with me at all. It’s certainly not a judgment on the value of my time or my value as a human being. 

Just like 8-year-olds, adult people forget things. They also have significant challenges in life, from pandemics to wars to childcare to aging family members. It’s in my long-term best interest to give them, and myself, a little grace.

After much effort, I’ve stopped compulsively checking my email when I’m at my desk, my phone when I’m not, during those first few minutes of uncertainty. As if this flurry of activity on my part could somehow will the other person into appearing. It can’t, of course.

Instead, I’ve been trying to look at missed coaching sessions as brief, new opportunities. To text that friend I’ve been meaning to reach out to for a while. To go for a walk around the block. Or even, on the busiest of days without enough breaks, to stretch my legs and get a glass of water. In short, to thank my lonely kid self for his service and tell him I’ll take things from here on out.

That Zoom window with just me in it? Not going to lie, it still doesn’t feel great. But I’m getting better at it.

Image: Joe Haupt from USA, CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons