Can You Adjust My Timing?

If things are constantly changing, then what's timing got to do with it? Think about it, if we were in a relationship and I said to you, "Our timing is just all wrong," what would you think?

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Timing. The synchronization of the sparking of the plugs with the movement of the pistons in an internal-combustion engine. Timing.

If we make a little adjustment, our timing could instantly be right... right? Yet, so often we junk the whole sha-bang just because the timing is off. I'll be the first to admit that I'm not a love mechanic... and I sure could use one in my back pocket: trustworthy, friend of the family, gives me the truth and good rates, you know?

If I said to you what I said I'd say to you in the second sentence I wrote above, it'd be a reactive comment about timing. In other words, our timing sucks and I'm tired of trying to fix it. That's one thing, but what about when you've met someone amazing and your timing is wrong? How am I supposed to know how to tune the engine when I don't know that much about how it works?

I've been thinking about this a lot lately and my opinion? You have to take time to make time (or have a really, really well-educated love mechanic in your back pocket that knows how this engine works just by looking at it). When I say "take time," I mean that you have to find the patience to learn about how the engine works--how its timing is supposed to be adjusted. Taking the time to understand its complexity means that you can make time in the future to adjust it.

In my last I'm-still-not-sure-what-to-call-it relationship, the timing was very wrong. Instead of learning more about the engine, we got into the car and jammed down the gas pedal, but left the car in neutral. What happened? We didn't go anywhere. I warned that we were going to spend all this time simply trying not to break it until the timing was right. Sho nuff. We cracked the block, watched all the oil spill out and then shot a piston right out of the side of the car.

Joy ride. But like, joy ride without leaving the garage. *Yawn*

After that, I stood on the street corner, hands in pockets, not thumbing for a new ride, just being contemplative. Even so, a new ride slowed as it passed and a sealed envelope got tossed out of the passenger window, which I caught and read. It said:

"If we take time to make time, then we'll save time when it is time."

I flipped the letter over, pulled out my Capt. Crunch invisible ink pen and wrote:

"Promise?"

And then tossed the letter back into the car.