The Watch Paradox

I have a unique talent I developed back when I worked in radio: I can almost always guess the actual time within a 10-minute window. It’s not a special power. It’s actually just an anxiety disorder that ensures that even without looking at a clock, I know exactly how late I am.

Regardless of my bargain-bin X-Men ability, I love wearing watches. They are functional jewelry. But there has always been one obstacle: I wear them on my left hand, so the crown is always down, digging into my wrist.

Moment to moment, it sounds like a moot concern. But when it is inconvenient, it interferes. For example, when I am doing my "many" pushups, I have to take off my watch or I will inadvertently set the time for China CST.

That was until recently.

I moved away from my digital Casio to a smartwatch. (Allow your hate to pour on me. I am ready.) I was hesitant. My Casio was the John Wick of watches: quiet, complicated, and impossible to kill. However, I was swayed to try a Google Pixel Watch. (Oh my God, another round of hate? For me? You shouldn't have.)

This didn't change my dilemma; it just meant that pushing myself off the couch might accidentally trigger a 9-1-1 call. Each morning I would slap it on and mumble into the void, "What's the point of paying a bajillion dollars to not be able to wear it?" hoping life would stumble upon a solution for me.

Then my co-worker asked me one day, "Why don't you just program it to flip the screen orientation?"

It was enraging. Because of course there was a solution. I had gotten so used to my problem being a personality trait that I never went back to address the original issue. I had tried switching arms; that didn't work. So I gave up. I sat down, and when the new model came, I wore it with the exact same expectation of failure as the old one.

It makes me wonder how many other "watch problems" are lingering in my life that just need a second look.