Let it go

In 2002, I moved to Oklahoma City with my then-fiancé. New to the area, we stayed with friends while we searched for places to live. One afternoon, while apartment hunting, I exited the leasing office of the latest units we had been looking at and onto a two-lane road, which appeared to be a residential or business district. I normally associated driving in such an area with a 30 to 40 mile per hour speed limit.

I first saw the truck approaching at a speed well in excess of 40mph. I didn't think much about it, other than being a bit embarrassed to have clearly misjudged the speed limit of the unfamiliar road, and attempted to quickly increase my speed to match the only other vehicle driving on it.

As the truck passed me, I waved at him, attempting to convey an apology for rudely getting in his way. He had passed me at a speed exceeding 20mph of my current speed, so he was well in front of me as we both continued our journey. And that, so I thought, was that.

Perhaps he misunderstood the intention of my wave. Perhaps he saw me giving him "the bird" as opposed to a wave. Or perhaps he was simply having a bad day. But whatever was happening in his mind or in his world led to a disproportionate response to my "transgression".

Now a quarter-mile in front of me, the truck was stopped at a four-way intersection at which the traffic light was red. Having adjusted my speed to the actual speed limit of the 50 mph road, I was just beginning to decelerate for the upcoming red light when the light turned green.

As I once again began to accelerate, I noticed that the truck, now in the left lane, had his left blinker turned on, but had not begun to move from the intersection. In a turn of events, it was now me who was quickly approaching the truck, however, I was in the right lane so there would be no conflict or concern about hitting the apparently turning vehicle.

And then it happened…

As I was getting set to pass the truck in the right lane, the truck began to move, giving the appearance that he was in fact turning left at the intersection, but at the last moment, he changed course, almost performing a U-turn, and maneuvering his large truck so that he was positioned horizontally across both lanes of traffic, which included mine! Having almost no reaction time, I was required to slam on my brakes and swerve to avoid T-boning him at a speed that would have most certainly resulted in substantial vehicular damage, and quite likely great physical damage to myself, my passengers, and anyone he had in his truck.

It was clear that the truck’s driver had felt the need to exact some sort of “revenge” in response to whatever I had done to him just one mile earlier. Having accomplished his mission, I'm certain the driver now had assumed our encounter to be over. I, on the other hand, had no intention of letting it end here.

Once I had fully stopped my vehicle, with about 500 feet of tire marks behind me, adrenaline was coursing through my veins. I whipped my head around to track the truck's actions, which had already completed a secondary U-turn and was now continuing down the road his blinker had indicated he'd be initially turning left on.

I quickly embraced the "fight" mode of a "fight or flight" response, and whipped my vehicle in pursuit of his. He didn't get far, as he had now approached yet another intersection's red light. I raced up behind him, once again slamming on my brakes, but this time from blind anger as opposed to survival instincts.

I don't know exactly what my intent was, but I shifted my vehicle into park, desperately reaching for my door handle as I was afraid his light would turn green before I could reach him, threw my door open to the point that the recoil of the door hitting its furthest point actually caused it to bounce back into my now-exiting left leg, bruising it badly, yet I felt nothing at this point other than my rage.

As I approached the truck's driver side door, I noticed it opening. My first thought was violent. If this guy was going to step out of his vehicle with a mood of anything other than total contrition, I was going to beat his ass.

The driver did not exit his vehicle at all, but rather leaned out of it, facing me. Instead of contrition, or anything remotely near contrition, the driver was brandishing what appeared to be a Glock 9mm handgun, and it was being pointed directly at my chest.

Saner individuals would have quickly run for cover at the sight of a weapon capable of killing. I was no longer sane. I became even more enraged at the sight of what I believed to be a symbol of hiding from one's mistakes, chastising the gun owner, and daring him to shoot me.

I should've died that day. It's still unclear to me why he didn't shoot me. I was incredibly hostile towards him, and after a while, it had become clear to me that he was inebriated and probably had very little in the way of inhibitions remaining. I don't really remember how the encounter ended other than it was laced with four-letter expletives towards one another. We eventually both returned to our vehicles and went on with our day.

Did I learn a lesson that day? Not really, I'm embarrassed to admit. While never having another gun pointed at me, I have had more than a few emotional, and in some cases physical, encounters since this experience. I'm not exactly a hothead, but two things seem to always set me off without warning: 1. A general disregard by people who belligerently violate the golden rule. 2. Hostile acts of any sort towards those whom I love.

It would take more than twenty years, and a Shih Tzu later, to achieve a level of enlightenment in the face of anger.

Last Friday, I was walking Chewey at our local pond, which is our normal go-to route for tranquil jaunts. He loves it there, and so do I. It's kind of our happy place, as he gets to use the "dog internet" by sniffing and marking his territory, while I get to watch the pond's fountain and sit peacefully on the vast array of park benches.

On Friday nights during the summer, the Los Alamos county puts on concert series, the sort that most small towns seem to have during warm weather months. A variety of country, cover, classic rock, and bluegrass bands all take to the stage each Friday night from around Memorial Day to Labor Day, and a large number of county residents show up to unwind after a long week. I've always enjoyed being around the fun-loving community during this time, as it's truly a smorgasbord of personalities and cultures, all just enjoying one another. Chewey has also learned to love this ritual, as he gets to visit with all of the other dogs who are there during this time. But what he loves most about Friday night concerts, is all of the affection he receives from the other concert-goers.

On this particular evening, however, as I was walking Chewey around the walkway which serves as a perimeter for the pond, Chewey approached a man and two children who were sitting on one of the benches.

Chewey did what Chewey does, and slowly walked towards the man's foot, politely sniffing it, while clearly awaiting the man to pat him on the head. He wasn't jumping, he wasn't yelping or barking, hell he wasn't even trying to hump the man's leg, which is no guarantee nowadays. He was just being Chewey.

However, instead of patting Chewey on the head, smiling at him, or even just ignoring him, the man decided to kick Chewey in an effort to get him away from his shoe.

In a scene straight out of the movie "Kill Bill", I no longer could view this man in any color other than red.

As I slowly approached him, staring directly into the man's eyes, my initial feelings were eerily similar to those I felt on that day in Oklahoma City…

I first noticed an increased level of discontent, which was bordering on anger, in the American public shortly after the world reunited in person after the Covid pandemic.

We'd been through a lot as a society, since March of 2020, which seems a laughable understatement. It wasn't just Covid as an illness. It was the contentious general election of 2020, and the resulting events of January 6, 2021, the George Floyd summer, the isolation and its effects on both our children as well as our own mental health, the death of loved ones, the loss of jobs, and the list goes on and on.

We were angry. I was angry. At everything, and at nothing.

Technology had advanced at such a breakneck pace that we were never more connected and yet somehow never more distant from others during this time, a problem which persists today. We'd effectively lost the ability to follow basic sandbox etiquette as a society, and then one day we were all forced to use it again.

I noticed this social gap, in particular, with men, and perhaps even more specifically younger men.

Christine Emba discusses this at great length, and far more effectively than I'm about to, in an essay she penned for the Washington Post. She asks the question "what's wrong with men?".

I will clumsily summarize one of her positions by stating that men are as important today as they've ever been, but in a brave new world in which we correctly attempt to recognize diversity, equity, inclusion, and accessibility, men are often left feeling as though they are the only ones without a chair when the music stops.

This has sprung forth an entire cottage industry of con-men and women who are looking to capitalize on insecurities, while simultaneously ushering in the unintended consequence of causing anger within a demographic that increasingly feels as though they no longer have a place in the world.

Yes, it's easy to look at the fact that there are more CEOs by the name of Michael and James in S&P 500 companies than the total of all women CEOs, however, this doesn't represent the majority of American men today.

Men are needed less for love, protection, income sources, and yes, even procreation, than at any point in history.

So they are doing what all species do in the absence of an identity…huddle together with the like-minded. This works, if there isn't a leadership vacuum, but when role models who openly boast about grabbing women without their consent exist, one wonders if there are better alternatives

We can choose to dismiss these young men as exhibiting nothing more than #toxicmalemasculinity, and hurl ad hominem insults, which can be ever-so-briefly rewarding, but if the role-model vacuum persists, we might not like what gets sucked up to fill the void for these men.

This all just reminds me of the great Don Henley, as he queries “how can love survive in such a graceless age?”

And so, as I approached Chewey's assailant with intentions of no good, my mind quickly flashed to Emba's essay, Henley’s song, and a multitude of other reminders that everyone is going through something.

Then my eyes broke from the man's, flicking to Chewey who was now looking at the man with nothing but love, understanding, and a desire for his affection.

By the time the man rose to his feet in an effort to match the very real threat he should have felt emanating from my body language, my mind had already begun the process of restoring homeostasis.

I had a choice in that moment, and while everything within me had been screaming to become Eric Cartman's hero that no one ever needed, The Coon, I chose a slightly different path.

I attempted to diffuse the situation with humor, asking if he was “in need of a hug?”, then making him aware that “I give free hugs”.

This had the opposite of my desired effect, causing anger instead of laughter. The man then told me that I should keep my "rat dog" away from him and his kids, then mustered whatever phlegm was within him to spit in Chewey's direction.

Side-note: Now…I'm not saying I'm Jesus, but what I can tell you with certainty is that no one in the world, in that moment, would have been able to credibly claim that they had seen both Jesus and me occupying the same area.

I believe my look of disappointment with his actions might have been enough to make him feel something heavier, as he began to lash out at me.

All the while, I continued to watch Chewey and his total indifference towards the man's antics, and a calm washed over me, unlike anything I had ever experienced before in moments similar to this one. I started thinking logically, and my logical brain began asking a pretty good question: "If someone can be this angry at a 10lbs Tribble, mustn't there be something else going on in his life which is causing that anger?"

I thought of something my uncle once told me: "I just assume everyone is doing their best to get through this crazy life in the only way they know"

Then, I remembered the words of the great Jack Handey: "Before you criticize someone, walk a mile in their shoes. That way, you'll be a mile from them, and you'll have their shoes"

I couldn't help but smile as I tugged at Chewey and began walking away, wondering what to credit most with my newfound ability to turn the other cheek, and then my smile turned to an audible laugh when I realized I had been subconsciously whistling Idina Menzel's most famous ballad…

Sometimes it really is just better to "Let it Go"