Jenifer’s Shelter Island Journal: Timing

Bad timing, good timing: everyone over the age of six knows — from experience, mind you — that, as Bobby Burns points out, “The best laid plans of mice and men …” — ultimately depend on “timing,” and, if it’s the bad variety, things can “… often gang awry” in spectacular fashion.

So what is it? A knack? A gift? Can it be taught?  Practiced? 

Online Webster’s says of “timing” in its definition 1/b that it is: “the ability to select the precise moment for doing something for optimum effect.” Well, if it’s an ability, perhaps it can be acquired, or at least improved. Our omniscient pal, AI, seems to think so, at least when it comes to specific types of timing: “Yes, a sense of timing can definitely be acquired and improved. While natural baseline rhythms vary from person to person, neurological plasticity allows the brain to sharpen its internal clock through focused physical and mental training.”

AI even offers some suggestions to sharpen that internal clock:

“Use a metronome: Practice simple tasks or musical exercises strictly alongside a steady click track to calibrate your internal tempo …”

Record and review: “Record yourself performing a timed task or playing an instrument, then play it back to spot where your pacing drifted.”

The above may all be very helpful in certain human endeavors like sports and music and, who knows, the stock market? 

But then there’s timing of a more metaphysical nature, commonly known as “divine timing.” Now, examples of that type are often labeled coincidence, or luck or a hybrid of both that they call serendipity, by people who seem allergic to the adjective divine. It seems to give them — pardon my scientific jargon — the heebie-jeebies. 

However, even the most rock-ribbed pragmatist is familiar with it. It wouldn’t take any of us long to think of times in our lives in which a carefully planned for, longed for result — a marriage, a job, a house, a trip — seemed to resist all our attempts to manifest it. The harder we struggled, the further away it got. In fact, if there was a result at all, it often seemed the exact opposite of what we’d hoped and prayed for. 

So, we gave up, let go, tried to recalibrate like the GPS in our car, felt disillusioned but kept on trudging — then a week, a month, a decade, even, later something happened. Something surprising, unplanned-for, having seemingly nothing to do with any direct efforts on our part but better than we could’ve ever imagined. Divine timing?  I don’t know, but certainly very mysterious.

Then there are times when we’re just doing our thing, life is fine, and out of the blue, we’re given a gift we could’ve never expected. Case in point and the inspiration for this column:

A couple of weeks ago, shortly before my granddaughter’s 11th birthday, I was finally tackling the overstuffed cabinets in my “study,” excavating through at least two decades worth of what must’ve seemed, at the time, like “must-keeps,” and I came across a folder too small for what it contained: a beautiful sketch of the singer, Stevie Nicks, done by a multi-talented friend of mine back in 1984.

I recalled immediately that I’d displayed it for years but must’ve put it away during one of my renovations. Now, this granddaughter loves Stevie, and loves to sing, and with her oddly soulful voice, had made her singing debut doing a cover of Stevie Nicks’ “Landslide” when she was nine.

There couldn’t have been a more perfect birthday gift, with just enough time to get it framed. The birthday girl was thrilled, my dear artist friend down in Georgia was thrilled, but neither was more thrilled than I. Three gifts in one, from out of the past, wrapped in a lovely story and tied with ribbons of magic? Divine. I can’t think of a better word to describe it. Makes you wonder …

Oh, I can’t forget “comic timing.” Personally, I think I’m a laugh riot, but, inexplicably, I cannot tell a joke. Except for this one-and-only my husband taught me: Reporter to a world-famous comedian: “Can you tell us the key to your—”

Comedian: “Timing.”  

You have my permission to use it. You’re welcome.