How often do you wish you had a second chance at something?
The great thing about life, if you’re paying attention, is that very often you do get to try again.
In the classic comedy film Groundhog Day, Bill Murray’s character is forced to relive a particular day over and over again until he gets it right.
My first Christmas gift came a few days ago when the Universe–in a Groundhog Day-esque move–recreated an almost identical scenario in the post office parking lot to the one I wrote about last month. If you didn’t read it already, you might want to check it out here as background.
So, I pull into the post office parking lot (again) and see an open spot between two cars. Nobody is moving and it’s easy to back my van into the space. I use both mirrors and the back-up video — all clear.
The ignition clicks off and I start to get out. The door of the car next to me opens and the driver says, “I guess you didn’t see me — you almost hit me! You almost ran right into me!” Another angry lady, this one much older than the last one.
I was a heartbeat away from getting defensive, but I realized it was my Groundhog Day moment. I almost laughed out loud (“almost” was progress, since my laughing out loud at last month’s road rage lady was my downfall).
Mustering my presence power (again, please read the F-Bomb post if you haven’t already!), I locked my ego in the closet and said, “Oh! I’m so sorry!”
But this time I meant it. It wasn’t that I believed that I had almost hit her. But I did feel her distress and felt sorry she was suffering.
“Are you alright?” I asked. “What can I do to help? Can I carry your packages for you?”
Disarmed, she grumbled, “I don’t have any packages.”
Then she hobbled out of her car and started walking very very slowly towards the building. She was probably in her 70’s, and physically impaired to boot.
“You’re not allowed to rush ahead of me and take my place in line!” she snapped as I started at my normal walking pace. “The men always do that!”
“How about I just walk next to you? I promise not to get in line in front of you,” I said. I slowed down to a snail’s pace.
“How long have you lived around here?” she asked in a slightly less grumpy tone.
“Twenty years,” I replied.
“I’ve lived here for 50 years,” she said. “We bought our house for $20,000 and now it’s worth $750,000.”
“Wow!” I said. “Lucky you!”
“Two years ago I went in for routine surgery and the doctor accidentally sliced my bladder open,” she said (our relationship was progressing quickly). “I’ve never been well since.”
Me (again): “I’m so sorry!”
Inside the building, she had to fill out an envelope. I waited behind her, assuring her I wouldn’t take her spot.
Fortunately I wasn’t in a huge hurry, making it easier to stay present. What was different this time around was that I was able to remain non-judgmental. I was able to empathize, which diffused her tension immediately.
I wasn’t pandering. I wasn’t playing the martyr. I wasn’t looking down on her. I wasn’t belittling her or myself. I was simply there, paying attention to someone whom most people rushed by. She was frightened and frustrated and lonely, and it sounded like that was her life experience most of the time.
It was so easy to give her a few minutes of respite. And it felt good to dissolve her negative energy. Presence felt good. It was the exact opposite feeling to the one I had after my exchange with the F-bomb lady a few weeks ago.
In the back of my mind, I was chuckling at the obvious re-do the Universe threw my way. In what I could only see as a wink in my direction, the woman, after being helped by one post office employee, was redirected to another window–the one where I was being helped. After all of my efforts to make sure not to get in front of her in line, she still ended up behind me.
We continued to chat until she finally said, “Do you have time for a cup of coffee?”
I had to pick up my son and couldn’t join her, but we parted with a wave, a smile, and a “Nice to meet you!”
Happy Holidays, everyone! Your friendship and support are true gifts. I am especially grateful for your comments here on the blog, in emails, on social media, and when our paths cross in person. Wishing you peace, good health, and presence this holiday season and in the new year. ~ Martha
Joann says
Martha- what a wonderful reminder for all of us! If we could pause and take a deep breath before reacting, what a difference it would make.
Another thoughts…maybe you should try the Oakton post office!
Martha says
Thanks so much, Joann, and happy Christmas Eve to you! Why would I try the Oakton post office when so many exciting things happen at the Vienna branch? Who knows what I’ll encounter the next time? But I must say, the more I am able to respond to challenging situations with presence, it seems the Universe throws fewer and fewer challenges my way. My guess is I’ll have a fairly smooth ride at the post office from here on out, but I’ll keep you posted. Happy holidays, my friend! ~ Martha
Tammy R says
Yup, I’m crying. This one really got me, Martha. I am so impressed with your reaction and am thinking about how I might be able to try this in the future. I imagine that this woman’s day was much brighter after your interaction.
I wish you the happiest of new year’s!
Martha says
Thanks so much, Tammy! It’s one of the few times I can remember catching myself at just the right moment before plowing ahead thoughtlessly. It was really quite fun. Happy new year to you as well — I look forward to more conversations like this one in 2014! xxoo Martha
Yoon Jung Park says
You made me tear up. Again. Probably my hormones and impending menopause. But, oh so sweet. Made me recall the time that I had a party in my Medford apartment and later realized that someone (whom we all knew) must have gone into my bedroom and stolen a couple rings that my mom had given me. When I finally mustered the courage to tell my mother, she told me that I should pray for that poor soul, who was so desperate that they had to steal from a friend! I had not expected that sort of understanding and compassion from her. But that’s what we all need more of … compassion.
Thanks for sharing your redux!
Martha says
Thanks for the kind words, Yoon. What a great response from your mother — a wise woman, that one! Funny, I wasn’t going for tears with this post, but you are the second reader who responded that way. Perhaps, as you say, it’s hormones and impending menopause, with a dash of tear-jerker Christmas movie hangover effect thrown in. Hope you had a wonderful Christmas! xxoo Martha