When it's hard.
And what I learned from being flipped off.
Yesterday, I got flipped off by someone on the road, and I burst into tears. I was on the phone with my husband as it happened, and I remember very calmly explaining to him, as it was happening, that someone was looking me dead in the face and giving me the middle finger. It wasn’t until I had hung up with Andrew and bit my lip for half a minute that I started to cry.
The guy had glared at me with a furrowed brow and the angriest face I’ve ever seen on a complete stranger. And as I drove along the freeway, crying, feeling like the absolute worst person in the world, I tried to tell myself, over and over again…maybe that guy just got fired. Again. Maybe he was on his way to the hospital. Maybe he had previously lost a loved one to a careless driver (yes, I did pull out too far into the road while trying to turn left, and I was in the wrong. But in my defense, he didn’t even need to swerve. But I digress.). Maybe he didn’t know that he had other kinder options for expressing his anger, like a thumbs-down. (Although, arguably, if I got a thumbs-down from a fellow driver, that would probably make me cry too.) I tried so hard to give him the benefit of the doubt because really I have no idea why he was so upset.
It took me crying for a few minutes over that man’s middle finger and a quick trip inside the library to distract me for an afternoon. But then, as I thought about it again, I actually totally get it.
Statistically speaking, 85% of life is just really freaking hard. (Just kidding, there is no scientific or mathematical reason for why I picked 85%, it just feels right.) People cut you off on the road. You get flipped off. Kids spend all day telling you they are hungry and then throw breakfast, lunch, and dinner into the trash can. Loved ones pass away. Employees lose their jobs. Natural disasters destroy homes. Sweaters snag on hooks and Velcro. Toddlers get sick. Scammers take your money. Books have lame endings. Pet puppies get sick all over the carpet. You struggle with physical health. You struggle with mental health. Your husband works 80 hour weeks. Your wife has an addiction to buying expensive clothes. Your team gets killed in the Super Bowl. Your alarm goes off before you’re ready to be done sleeping. (Is anyone ever?) You have a no-good-very-bad day. Every day for a week. Or a month. Infertility. Cancer. Eviction. Divorce.
This is all really hard.
Maybe God made it this way on purpose, or maybe this is just the way it is, or maybe everything would be different if we all moved to Mars or to a different universe. I literally don’t know anything half the time; I’m just a 29-year old kid. But I know that it’s hard. And I’m still trying to figure out how to find meaning in the hardship and the annoyance and the devastation and the grief.
I’ve tried to imagine that mean guy on the road at the birth of his child, smiling ear to ear, full of joy. Walking across a stage at some graduation. Playing football with nieces and nephews. Opening presents on Christmas morning with loved ones.
And it’s easy to imagine myself full of rage on the road (minus the vulgar hand gesture), screaming at my children, being rude to a drive-thru worker, and gossiping about others, because I’ve literally been there, done that.
When we picture ourselves, I wonder if we see ourselves at our best or our worst.
There’s a Walt Whitman quote: “I contain multitudes”. I’ve always loved that idea. We contradict ourselves because we are just trying to get through an existence full of hardship a lot of the time, regardless of scale, mixed in with powerful beauty and happiness, if infrequent. We’re trying to find joy while dealing with hurt. Trying to rid ourselves of our weakness even though we can’t rid the world of its own. Trying to love and be loved while fearing hurting and being hurt.
There is something romantic about opposition. Through all of the opposition we confront in our lives, in whatever form that is, it has the power to prod us along a path of self-betterment. For those who are religious, it’s an opportunity to choose to follow Satan or to follow Jesus. With each challenge, each day, each moment, we can grow. Undoubtedly, we handle things poorly. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it), tomorrow is probably going to give us plenty more chances to try again.
Look, I don’t think it’s cool to just run around giving the middle finger when bad things happen and you’re upset. Better to take some deep breaths or hide in a pantry and eat some chocolate alone. But also…yeah, I get it.
So, I just want to tell you that if you’re having a hard time, I probably am too, along with everyone else. So instead of making it harder for our fellow travelers by flipping them off, remember that we all spend time in the muck. And if we can’t pull each other out somehow, at least we’re in it together.
My wife and I were visiting my stepmum this past May in SW Wales. Not only are car steering wheels on the opposite side, so is the traffic. And the roads are narrow.
So off we drove one afternoon to the nearest small town market. Not only was the road narrow, one side was taken up by parked cars. So there on the main village road, you had to take turns driving. I looked ahead, saw a car coming the other way, and held back until he passed. Then it was my turn, but oh, there is another car ahead. Ah, he is slowing down to let me go, so I go, and halfway past the parked cars he starts in the other way. Not knowing what I should do, I speed up to get past the cars, just in time for him to reach that section, roll down his window, and yell at me as I went by: “You’re a bit of a wanker, ain’t ya”
Well, that’s the most Welsh thing ever. Not only was I unsteady on the road in general, I was put in an awkward situation, inconveniencing the local, who called me a British slang insult, and the softened it by saying “you’re a bit” of a wanker.
What could I do? Guilty as charged. Now my wife teases me by saying that to me.