Recently, I had one of those quintessentially infuriating bureaucratic experiences where I went to a local lab for a blood test, checked in on the automated kiosk, and sat down and waited for my name to be called. The screen in the waiting room estimated my wait time to be eight minutes. Twenty minutes later, I was summoned by a human to whom I handed my paperwork. She glanced at what was written on the page, looked at me and said, “Oh, I’m sorry. We don’t do this test here.” She then handed me a paper with three other locations that do and sent me on my way.
I shook my head as I walked out of the office and thought to myself, “That’s ridiculous!”
On the very same day that this event happened, I also thought it was “ridiculous” when some guy missed hitting my car by two inches as he cut over three lanes of traffic to get to the left lane. Later that same evening, my son told me he received an email saying that he couldn’t work two jobs on campus as previously told and to that, too, I responded, “That’s ridiculous.” As these words rolled off my tongue for the umpteenth time in the same day, I had to step back and ask: Why do I have such a disproportionate level of ridiculousness in my life?
As I thought about this question, I thought back to what had happened at the lab, on the road, and in the privacy of my own home and at first, they seemed to have absolutely nothing at all in common. So I thought again about each of these individual experiences.
After going to the lab, I thought, “They should post the tests they don’t do. They should have told me.”
After the guy cut me off, I thought, “He should be paying better attention. He should drive more carefully.”
And after my son shared his frustration about his on campus jobs, I said, “They should really get their act together.”
And it was when I looked at these experiences side-by-side that I saw the commonality: my response.
In life, a lot happens that is beyond our control; yet how we respond is always the one thing we can control. Imagine if, after my experience at the lab, I said, “Lucky me! I found the extra ten minutes I needed to write my friend a birthday card!” And after the guy cut me off in traffic, I thought, “Phew! I am so grateful to be safe!” And when my son told me about his job, I said, “Isn’t it wonderful that you get to work on campus!” Instead of complaining about the disproportionate level of ridiculousness in my life, I’d be celebrating my good fortune.
If you find yourself feeling like you have an unfair share of something that you don’t want in your life-relationship dysfunction, family drama, disappointment, absurdity-step back and ask yourself these questions:
- Is this as __________as it seems? (Insert adjective of your choice, e.g. dysfunctional, dramatic, disappointing, absurd, etc.)
- Are there other, more positive, words that you could use to describe or respond to this?
- How could changing your language impact how you feel?
The words you use to describe and respond to your experiences are like air for a fire. Some fan the embers until they glow and warm us from the inside out. While others fuel a fire so hot that you wince in pain from the heat. When your fire begins to scorch, remember this: you can always put it out. How? Deprive it of air.
Originally published at https://fiftysilverlinings.com on July 24, 2020.
