The Highway

I am not a patient person. I never have been. Even as a kid, I had a difficult time understanding why some people just didn’t get it, why it took some people longer to figure out what I had already learned or discovered. My parents worried about me. They were concerned that I would grow up to be intolerant and standoffish, cruel to those who are not as quick as me. In a way, their suspicions sort of came true. I have had to consciously work, my entire life, on accepting the fact that everyone runs at different speeds, that people’s minds do not function the same way mine does. I battle, every single say, to keep my patience in check, to hold back from lecturing people on what I think is the correct way to live. It has taken a really long time for me to become aware of my penchant for edginess, but now that I know that it is a salient aspect of my personality, I look for it in others. My problem with impatience has done a back-flip; since I have to constantly worry about my own disregard for the nuances in people’s personalities, I find myself worrying about everyone else’s too. Failure to recognize the differences in people’s minds and actions has now become my pet peeve instead of just my own personal imperfection. It haunts me in every aspect of my life.
As seriously screwed up as this sounds, we all struggle with a certain level of impatience. Humans are self-centered beings—we only value what WE think to be the truth, we all attempt to impart our way of life onto others. This has been the case since the beginning of time (think American Imperialism, Nazism, Globalization…you name it). There is real truth behind “it’s my way or the highway”, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise to me, or anyone else, that people often revert back to this inherent flaw and neglect to take into account that people handle situations differently. We tend to forget that, more often than not, people much prefer the highway.
Ok, enough of my soapbox, here’s the rub: the other day, I found myself in a very awkward situation. While pre-gaming at a friend’s house, I found myself in the same room as a person with whom I have nothing but negative experiences in common. He and I are by no means friends, yet our paths have crossed on many occasions, none of which I look fondly upon. His presence has always made me somewhat uncomfortable, so finding myself in the same social setting as him made me highly uneasy. Sitting there, next to the air conditioner, drinking more wine than probably necessary, I was reminded of a bad time in my life, a period in which heartache ruled and logic fell to the wayside. Watching him socialize with my new friends made me hate myself for what I used to be. It was depressing to be around him. So, it seems somewhat understandable that, as soon as he left the house, I let the drama queen out of her cage. I launched into a panic attack, complete with empty threats of future suicide attempts and exclamations that I was going to vomit. I paced around the room, squeaking about how much he and everything associated with him makes me want to punch a baby, running up and down the stairs and snapping at even the slightest attempt to calm me down. It was not cute.
Ok, so I flipped out. I lost my cool for a moment. I gave into my impulses and lost control of my rational thought processes. But it lasted for all of ten minutes. Ten minutes of unattractiveness, ten minutes of overly-emotional, bat-shit crazy passion, ten minutes of attention to my past—and everyone witnessed it. I knew it wasn’t pretty, I felt bad about forcing everyone to attend my pity-party; yet, at the same time, I feel I was entitled to a little indulgence at that moment. I needed that ten minute freak out, if only to get it out of my system, to make room for my logic, to move over so that my problem solving abilities could kick in. Excuse me for being human.
Even though I felt (and still feel) that my panic attack was warranted, I still felt the need to apologize to the people who were there, just to remind them that I am not always that crazy, that I don’t often give in to the overly-emotional part of my personality. So, when I IMed my friend the next day, during another impossibly boring Epidemiology lecture, to apologize for the outburst, I expected him to just say thanks and move on. No. Someone forgot to turn on his understanding that morning. As soon as I expressed my apology, he responded with a terse, “don’t apologize for living, Danielle”. Confused, I asked him what he meant by that, and he said, in so many words, that no one should ever do anything that he or she is going to have to apologize for later. Yeah? No shit—easier said than done, no? Here I was, just trying to be nice and apologizing if I had made him uncomfortable, and he launches into this whole speech about how I should never allow myself to lose control. I’m sorry, but last time I checked, I wasn’t you. How dare you try to impose your way of life on me! Let me do me and I’ll let you do you. If I want your advice on how to live, I’ll ask. In the meantime, try and realize that not everyone handles life the way you do. Take a walk in my shoes…I guarantee you won’t find them very comfortable, but it won’t hurt you to try them on.
I try to make it my business to attempt to understand people. I always try to figure out what makes people tick, that way, when they do tick, I get it. I too have problems with empathy, I also struggle to remember that people are different from me, that everyone lives their lives their own way. All I ask is that people do the same. So, next time someone does something that you think is completely contrary to what you believe to be acceptable, remember that if everyone continues to choose the highway, and you still can’t realize that that’s okay, your way will end up being pretty damn lonely.