I’ll admit it: I provoked this one. Not intentionally, but still.
It was one of those days — too little time, too much to do, and me moving through it at my usual speed. My mother always said I came into the world quickly, and honestly, I’ve never slowed down since. High speed, high octane. It’s how I’m made.
This time, my rushing landed me eight inches into the street, blocking the edge of a driveway. Not just anyone’s driveway, but someone who will be my neighbor in a few weeks.
I was still on the phone, knee-deep in a conversation, when I heard a screen door bang and a voice — high-pitched, sharp — scratch the air: “Why are you parking there when there are plenty of spots down the street?” She had more to say. Quite a bit more. I’ll let it go.
I finished unpacking the car after the call ended and glanced over at her house. I thought about what a younger version of me might have done. Rationalized my parking choice. Said nothing but held eye contact a beat too long. Walked away. None of those would have made me proud by the end of the day.
But I’m older now. And I’ve been party to enough of these exchanges to know that one question usually surfaces in me when someone explodes like that: I wonder what’s going on in her life right now. Here’s what that question does for me every time I ask it. The moment I wonder what’s going on in someone’s life, something shifts. I find I have more tolerance, more patience, more room for the person in front of me.
Most of us, when we are snippy or sharp or worse, are not really just reacting to what’s happening in that moment. We are bringing something forward — accumulated frustration, an old wound, a morning that went sideways before it even started, a grief we haven’t named yet. My neighbor’s anger about a parking spot probably wasn’t really about a parking spot. It rarely is.
Asking the question doesn’t excuse the behavior. It just makes it human. And once someone is human to me rather than an obstacle or an affront, I can respond to them instead of react.
So I crossed the street and knocked on her door. Not too hard, not too soft — just enough to be heard without startling her. She opened it fully dressed in Yankees gear, registered surprise, and opened her mouth for Part 2. Before she could exhale, I launched first: “Hi — I’m your new neighbor from across the street. I just wanted to thank you for letting me know I did a terrible parking job. I’m moving the car right now, but I wanted to introduce myself and apologize.”
“But I’m older now. And I’ve been party to enough of these exchanges to know that one question usually surfaces in me when someone explodes like that: I wonder what’s going on in her life right now.”
Kelly — she introduced herself immediately and extended her hand — was mortified. She explained that the street, being close to downtown, was constantly jammed with shoppers hunting for parking. She apologized several times. Then she offered to move her car so I could use her driveway.
Normally I would have said no. But I thought saying yes might, in some small way, let her feel a little redeemed for the very animated opening she’d given me. Kelly moved her car. Mine fit. She told me I was going to love the neighborhood. We both got on with our day. Every moment is a choice. And sometimes the right one starts with a question — not what is wrong with this person but what is going on with this person.
The answer to that question, even when you never hear it out loud, has a way of changing everything.