Meet Yourself

If you ever have cause to wonder where you are on your journey, go outside into the world of people and—meet yourself there. In the safety and sanctuary of our private spaces, we can only come to know some parts of ourselves—usually the parts we like. The other parts become 'revealable' bumping up against others.

Yesterday I met myself at the corner gas station in an encounter/altercation with an angry man that quite frankly, rattled my sensibilities. The gas station, partly torn down, was creating a challenge for those of us wishing to use the three remaining pumps with two possible points of entry. All the pumps were full. I wasn't in any hurry, so I waited patiently for my turn. I move toward the first open pump and a woman swooped it and took it. Maybe she was there before me. I didn't see her and maybe she didn't see me. Practicing my best Mother Theresa impersonation, I let it go.

I evaluate the other two cars parked at the pumps, one man was just beginning to fill his car and the other was underway. A man pulls up behind me and I logically decide to pull forward and circle around to get in line behind that one further along in the process. This also allowed the guy behind me to keep the backend of his car from spilling out into the busy street.

Finally, the woman in front of me finishes and leaves. But before I can put my car in motion, the man who was behind me in the street, swoops in and blocks me from the pump. I can't believe this is happening. I calmly got out of my car to walk over and have what I thought was going to be a rational, polite conversation—which quickly turned to him spewing out his anger. He firmly stated that he was not going to move. It was a stand-off at the pumps.

From his perspective (and my 'I can't-get-a-word-in' attempt to explain), I was indecisive in choosing a pump. He's shouting and waving his hands in the air "Which one is it going to be lady?" I, on the other hand, didn't see it that way. I was by all accounts first in line for the three precious pumps. I soon realized that he was not open to listening—at all. My heart was pounding fueled by the rage coming out of his mouth. All I could think to say was (with no explanation mark), "You are an a--------." He of course, responded in kind.

The man next to us, still filling his tank, yelled out of his window to the pump-jumper, something along the lines of "Dude, that is so wrong." Other cars started to pour in from both directions. With my car facing in the wrong direction for my tank, I decide to walk over to the next two cars in line to let them know I needed to turn around, pointing over at the pump I was going take.

Ordinarily a situation like this wouldn't really affect me. For some inexplicable dip on the biorhythms chart, it cut through me like a knife. I felt completely helpless.

After my car was full with fuel and I was heading toward home, I began to cry.

There is a phrase "If it's hysterical it's historical." I knew what I was meeting at the pumps were a host of people in my history, where I felt physically and verbally defenseless. And lord knows what kind of day or life the angry man in the white truck was bringing to the moment.

With triggers like these, my mind races to the sanctuary of home with thoughts of never coming out again. More importantly, in times like this, there exists an opportunity to meet ourselves. A real-time look at what remains to be revealed and healed—if I am willing to meet myself there. And for you, if you are willing to meet yourself there, too.

Note: I went back this morning to photograph the gas station, finding all of the lanes open and the construction crew pulling up the last of the caution and closed signs.

The irony in timing—don't you just love it?