This Frustration Needs a One-Two Punch of Patience

My frustration bores through the ceiling and fills the attic before it pushes it's way through the roof and permeates the atmosphere. I'm afraid I might be the causing damage to the ozone layer. If I had to attach a color to this frustration it would be baby shit yellow. 

Here I sit at the airport in Paducah, Kentucky. It's a small regional airport with typically two departures and two arrivals per day. Chicago's O'Hare is the origination and destination of the plane that services Paducah. I can't remember the last time I flew in to or out of Paducah when there wasn't some sort of a delay—weather in Chicago most often being the culprit. This trip, however, air traffic is the cause. Due to a fire in Chicago that severely damaged an air traffic control tower, air traffic in and out of O'Hare is severely affected. Six days ago the plane that would take me to Paducah couldn't get into O'Hare from Indiana due to congestion in the air. Today the plane, which sits on the Tarmac in Paducah just beyond the door I'm refusing to stare at, can't fly into Chicago due to congestion. Wouldn't it be nice if we could offer the friendly skies a DayQuil that allowed for freer flying with no congestion? But alas, there is no pill for that. Not even in Sky Mall Magazine. The only thing to do is surrender to the seat in the waiting area and remember that this is beyond anyone’s control—mine, the TSA workers in Paducah, the air traffic controllers in Chicago. This delay is for our safety, but that doesn't make it any less frustrating. 

A major frustration that is in the control of the TSA agents in Paducah is the security gate. They have a flight that is delayed by an hour and 15 minutes, but we the travelers have to be through security by 3pm because that's when they close the gate. That would be fine if the flight was still at 3pm, but it isn't still at 3pm. It's delayed to 4:15(ish)pm. So we have to say goodbye to our families and sit on the other side of the security gate for an hour while we wait to board our delayed flight. I shouldn't complain. I mean I realize the flight could have been cancelled. Delayed will still get me there. But it won't get me there in time to make my connecting flight. That is frustrating. Instead of getting home around 10pm it will be after midnight. Still nothing to really complain about. On the positive, at least there was a later flight with a seat available (a window, my least favorite. Beggars. Choosers) so I won't have to spend the night in Chicago. 

None of the above airport frustration has anything to do with the yellow, ozone-damaging frustration that started this piece. That frustration has left me discouraged for a different reason. It's a frustration that was born out of an inability to communicate. There are times when I try and take my knowledge (the best having been learned from prior experiences) and use it to try and understand a situation, to try and make a situation better. When I did that very thing this morning I was left shaking my head at my inability to connect in a way that was beneficial for either party. I was left, for lack of a better word, frustrated. I felt myself fighting anger, wanting to shut down, getting quiet. My lips were in a perpetual state pursedness. 

I wanted to connect—needed to. I wanted to be smart, clever, find a way in. I wanted to be a problem solver. I wanted to be someone who could be trusted. Maybe it's not the right time for that.

Then I realized that so much of my present situation was about me and not the person I was trying to help. I was seeing a younger version of me. I was frustrated by the actions of the other person, yes. But I was also frustrated that those actions were reflecting my former self—acting out, wanting attention, sensitive feelings—back at me. Along with my frustration, my present day self was getting in touch with his jealousy. What!? Jealousy? Yes. There was a freedom present that I never experienced. So yes, Jealousy! Reactions change. Age softens people. I was holding on tightly to my past.  Cue Cher’s “If I Could Turn Back Time.” 

Ultimately, I realize I was trying to help myself by helping this other person. I can't control the other person I was trying to help, but I can control my response to the actions. Life is a learning process. I'm continuing to learn from my past mistakes and my present mistakes. 

Frustration is a part of life. I encounter it every day. The thing is, I need to figure out how to keep it from weighing me down. I love my Tiffany key, but it's the only thing I want to wear around my neck. Frustration is cumbersome and neither pretty nor optimal. Bitching about its effects is neither beneficial nor productive. I need to figure out how to let go of it and, even as my mind continues to work on a solution, not let it make me angry, stress me out. I'm thinking it's going to take patience, which is something I struggle with finding daily.

I think I'll ponder that as I sit alone in the boarding area in the Paducah airport waiting to board that plane that's waiting to take me home. The only thing in my control is the frustration. It's time to let my pursed lips return to normal, let the knot in my chest release. After all, when has frustration caused anybody anything but added stress...and wrinkles? 

Self-Absorbed (Or General Dumbassery)?

This piece also appears on HuffPost Comedy

Are we all so self-absorbed -- our attention span like that of a toddler -- that we can't pay attention to the announcements continually repeating the same information? In an age where we can't seem to do anything without our smart phones how dumb have we all gotten?

I recently had to report for jury duty. There were wall signs all over the juror waiting room stating: No Cell Phone Use In This Room. We were verbally instructed that if we needed to use our phones we were to step out of the room to do so. We were instructed that we weren’t to tweet, play games, check our email, take pictures, or record video. We were instructed to turn them off, not just silence them. These verbal instructions were announced over the loud speaker. An excuse of not hearing didn’t apply.

I sat judgmentally (I know I know, judge not lest ye...yet there I was unable to follow that easy instruction) shaking my head at the number of people that had to be told repeatedly to turn off their cell phones. I’m guilty of being addicted to my twitter feed, checking my email, and playing too much Words With Friends, but I powered down when I was told to do so and settled in for the hours of waiting that were ahead of me. It was almost a relief of sorts to be unreachable. It’s kind of like when I’m at the gym. The phone is locked in my locker and I’m on my own time. With my phone powered down in the jury room, I was free to sit with my own thoughts; initially taking interest in the process happening around me then later, focusing on a magazine to relieve the boredom.

I watched in amazement as one of the perspective jurors in the jury room stood talking on her phone merely minutes after a security personnel team member made yet another announcement about NOT using cell phones in that room. When the security team member saw the woman, she asked, "Ma'am are you talking on your cell phone?" The question went unacknowledged. The woman on the phone gave no indication that she was the person being asked the question. As the security team member approached her she quickly ended her phone conversation and smiled at the woman. Her smile was one of those Oops-I-didn’t-think-No-Cell-Phones-applied-to-me-Sorry smiles. The security team member wasn’t amused. She had the patience of Job, but she didn’t care about anyone’s excuses and as nicely as possible I heard her tell people so. I loved her.

It is the smallest thing to turn off your phone (or to silence it if turning it off is too anxiety inducing for you). You don’t even have to remember it outright. When you go to the movies there’s a visual on the screen with an announcement. When you attend a live theatrical performance a bodiless voice fills the theatre instructing you to turn off your phone (and unwrap your candy). When you’re sitting in the court room before starting voir dire a person standing in front of you reminds you to turn off your phone. All you have to do is pull it out of your pocket or purse and turn it off (or at least silence it). That’s all. In that moment when cell phones are mentioned, you check yours and make sure it’s off or set to silent. But inevitably an obnoxious ringer rings or clangs or beeps or chirps. 

I was sitting in voir dire (the examination to ascertain a juror’s competence) when that inevitable happened -- the unique, muffled sound that has become so familiar when someone’s purse starts ringing. The judge’s instructions were interrupted. Concentration was broken. All eyes tracked toward the sound. Frustration was writ large on many faces. It’s understandable. We are connected to the world, but not to what’s happening in front of us. We don’t think those posted placards and announcements apply to us. 

Sitting on a jury panel, instructions are of the utmost importance. One has to pay attention, listen to the details. Can we pay attention enough when we’re dying to check Facebook for the latest cat video? Can we take the fate of someone else’s life into our hands when we’re so self-absorbed that we need to check-in via foursquare? I’m being dramatic, but I’m being dramatic to make a point. As a juror, we have to be able to discern between true and false. If we can’t be bothered to follow the simple request of turning off a phone, how can anyone expect us to follow all the information being given to us via testimony then use that information to render a decision of guilty or innocent.

We will walk down the sidewalk (or into the street) texting or reading on our phones expecting every one around us to move out of our way because we’re too busy in our own world to be bothered with our surroundings. During the opening monologue on the May 15, 2013, episode of Jimmy Kimmel Live!, even Jimmy Kimmel mentioned how texting-reading-emailing while walking is a normal action that takes place on the streets of New York City. His joke: he wants to develop a car made from Nerf material so he can “bump” these oblivious, self-absorbed people and give them a scare. Sounds good to me. I myself want to run into them on the sidewalk more often than I want to move out of their way. I walk and text myself, but I am constantly looking up to see where I’m going and more often than not I’m walking along the curb when doing so as opposed to down the center of the sidewalk. These texting-reading-emailing walkers are like people with huge umbrellas that have no idea how to maneuver in New York City. I made a decision a long time ago that I was tired of bending my umbrella to accommodate theirs. Now I just let the umbrellas collide with no remorse and no decline in my stride.

Our phones have become an extension of our hands. We don’t know what to do without them. I can’t tell you how many times I have had to rewind a scene I missed in an episode of one of my favorite television shows because I was checking my twitter feed or looking at Instagram. So many times that I’ve started trying to leave my phone across the room or in my bag when I’m watching television. And God forbid I forget it at home: let the anxiety begin. I’ve been late to work before because I chose to walk the 7 minutes back to my house from my subway stop after realizing that I didn’t have it. This is because I didn’t want to miss anything -- texts, tweets, Facebook comments -- not because I felt I needed it in case of an emergency. I’m shaking my head at myself.

For those brief periods when we’re asked to turn off our phones (at the movies, at a Broadway show, in the jury box) we should do it. Detach for those few hours. Focus on the reality of the present moment. It ain’t deep. Don’t panic. All the voicemails and texts and tweets will be waiting for you when you get the chance to power up again. It’ll be like Christmas morning.