"You're clearly not from New York. You don't know how to walk."
I had just rounded the corner to the dry cleaners and found it closed. I stopped short, and the woman behind me nearly walked into my back. Then I stood in the middle of the sidewalk, deciding whether to go home. A second woman had watched the whole thing. She walked up and delivered her verdict.
I didn't say a word. I'm not sure what my face did. Smiled, maybe. Looked confused. Then it made me laugh, because I recognized the voice. It was mine.
I've been traveling for a while, and somewhere between airports and crowded streets I picked up a habit. When someone does something unexpected, I comment out loud. "What are you doing?" "You need to move over." My headphones are on, so I'm in my own world. I can't hear myself, so somehow it feels like they can't hear me either. They can. I know they can.
I knew it wasn't kind. I hadn't stopped.
When I got home I told my son. His first question: "Did you yell at her?"
No. She hadn't told me anything I didn't already know. She was just the first person to say it to my face.
Maybe she was having a bad day. Either way, she showed me what I look like from the outside when my impatience leaves my body and lands on someone else.
Not everyone who irritates us is a teacher. But when it stings more than it should, it's worth asking why. Often the extra sting is recognition.
The next time someone stops short in front of me, I'd like to feel the flash of irritation, stay with it, and let it pass without handing it to anyone.
Who irritated you recently, and what might they have been showing you?
Bestest,
Patricia