This morning, as I crossed 81ststreet, I saw a gentleman sitting at a red light in his black Mercedes sedan. He looked like any normal, thirty-something guy heading to work with his suit jacket folded neatly in the back seat and iced coffee sweating in his cup holder. As I stepped onto the sidewalk catty-corner to Starbucks I heard something strange. It was like Mad-Eye Moody was yelling from the bottom of a trunk in the sewer below my feet. I glanced back at the Mercedes guy and – I shit you not – he was gripping the steering wheel, white knuckles almost fluorescent, and screaming at the top of his lungs.
Normally this type of behavior would be startling to the casual observer. Maybe not, though, in New York City. Either way, upon witnessing such raw emotion, I smiled. Wut? Yes, I smiled. I didn’t smile as if to laugh at such an outburst, it was more of an “I hear you, brother” smile. Because, honestly, his scream was the most relatable thing I’ve seen all summer. That, and the night stalker episodes of shark week. Those New Zealand white sharks have seen some shit… but I digress.
Part of being an adult is regulating one’s reactions to both internal and external stimuli. External stimuli, if we’re looking for an example relevant to my daily life, might be the construction worker who screams “Ayo baby!” at me as I walk to the subway each morning. Depending on my overall mood, my initial reaction wants to fall in the range of screaming expletives at said gentleman (not a huge leap from screaming into the dashboard of an E class) to baseball bat themed violence. I never said I was perfect.
My actual response to this daily voyeur is much less obnoxious, although I have been known to verbally engage on those particularly hard days – unfortunately I don’t have a german-made, almost sound proof metal box to buffer such outbursts. Alas, it’s the ongoing management of our reactions and responses to things that is a hallmark of maturity. Better keep my baseball bat at home.
A few years ago, I was visiting my best friend and her family in Australia and spent a week with their whole clan, including her two toddlers, Ava and Jack. Probably the cutest, most well behaved children on the planet. Spending time with such happy kids can only be likened to cool water on a hot day – it was bliss. Upon mentioning their absolute angelic behavior, Krissy’s husband shared a story from his half-marathon a few weeks prior.
Jack, their son, had been unusually excited about the prospect of his dad’s race. On race day he was up, presumably, to wish him well before he drove to the starting line. However, as John went to leave the house, sans-Jack, apparently all was not well. Jack had assumed he would be competing with his father, at age 3, in a 13 mile race in the desert (they live in Perth). Learning that he would be a mere spectator unleashed his inner Mercedes-man. He threw himself on the floor, wouldn’t speak to anyone, it was mayhem.
As an aside, one of the best parts of this whole scene was the language I discovered the aussie’s use for such instances of distress.
“Did John tell you about the tantie Jack threw before his race? He threw a massive sad and heaved himself on the floor in an attempt to block john from going, it was hilarious”
I was hooked. Mostly because an Australian accent makes everything sound like it’s being said by Margot Robbie, but also because it’s so fitting. The term massive sad/tantie became a new favorite saying for me. Back to the point, though, watching a toddler react to stimuli like Jack did with such fervor is an extremely educational experience, one I’ve witnessed (and I’m sure performed personally) many times. There’s no management of one’s feelings or outbursts, kids just let it all out.
To me, maturity is a spectrum bookended by a massive tantie at one end and ignoring a construction jerkoff’s verbal harassment on the other. But, what happens when the stimuli is something you can’t see? Maybe it’s a feeling. Maybe it’s loss. Perhaps you’re reeling from an exchange you had with someone. A break up. Maybe the incident was work related and you’re in deep shit with your boss. Either way, like I said in a previous post, we often let the negative occurrences and things in life hit us harder than we do with things that might make us happy. Is that because we can’t have a toddler themed tantrum when life hits us hard? Should we all rent a benz and just scream every once and a while?
One of the kids I used to babysit would have a turn around time of about 4.5 seconds after a meltdown. I’d be on the verge of ubering over an exorcist to intervene during a particularly outrageous meltdown and then, poof, he would be fine. Kids. They’re wild. But maybe they’re also onto something. If we are able to let things out in real time (like my harassment induced morning fury) would I be able to bounce back to my normally *sunny* demeanor more quickly after moments of duress? Lol, sunny.
I don’t know the answer. And given that New Yorkers typically aren’t phased by verbal outbursts whether in a car or on the street – neither would achieve much of anything except adding to my already frazzled state on my commute to work. I will leave you with this…
Recently I’ve been getting frustrated by the homeless people that queue up for breakfast each morning at Holy Trinity’s soup kitchen on my street. They leave trash everywhere, shout somewhat annoyingly at me as I head to work, and pee in the phone booth outside my laundromat down the block. I know, I know.. if there was a definition of first world problems in the dictionary it would be my idiotic face stamped under this selfish vignette. But, here we are. Anyways, I went to the church’s website this morning to find someone I could email about potentially wrangling these caffeine-seeking gentleman each morning and landed on the “if you’d like to volunteer…” page.
There I was: 11:00 am and seething at the thought of seeing another homeless dude pee as I headed to work. As I copied the email address for the rectory director at Holy Trinity, I paused. Is this who I am? Jesus. Literally, I’m sorry Jesus.. I’m an asshole. I decided to go through with the email but made a few changes to the message:
Good Morning,
I am inquiring about volunteering to help with your morning breakfast for the homeless. I live across the street and would like to get involved.
Please let me know if there are any openings.
Thank you,
Brynn
It’s like they say, I guess.. if you can’t beat them – join them! Just kidding – kind of. In all seriousness, sending that email instead of the one I had initially drafted in my mind was like a sedative for my jagged thoughts. This wasn’t a lesson in channeling my frustration into something good, although i’ve heard good things on that front. But actually changing my behavior in this instance made me feel happier. What up, universe… I’m still listening. I’ll try not to have any massive tanties this week.
The Dog Hair Diaries 