Shifts in attitude usually come gradually, like slowly maturing out of a bratty teenage phase or finding yourself becoming more tolerant of things you used to loathe as you get older (for example, I no longer want to strangle anyone who tries to get me to eat sushi, I just want to smack them lightly). Every once in a while, though, something happens that makes you completely rethink how you operate and prompts you to make an immediate change. Something like, for example, coming home from your honeymoon (after being stuck at the airport for 12 hours) at 5am and finding that your car has disappeared.
Oh, that’s never happened to you?
Just me? How strange. Seems like something that would happen all the time.
Allow me to backtrack for a moment before regaling you with the details of my own personal rendition of Dude, Where’s My Car? Before my car’s disappearing act, I did not handle stressful situations well. Even seemingly small stressors could send me into a tailspin, and I’d been that way my entire life. As a child, something as simple as forgetting a book at school could reduce me to tears. Just thinking about how much homework or studying I had to do would nearly paralyze me with panic*, and an argument with a friend or even the most gentle reprimand from a teacher could easily lead me to spiral into a month-long depression. Even when I knew logically that I was reacting inappropriately and that I should really calm down and reevaluate the situation, my brain simply would not cooperate. I think someone missed an opportunity when I was a toddler to inform me that sobbing and/or shutting down are simply not the optimum ways to deal with problems.
As embarrassing as it is to admit, this cringe-worthy behavior continued well into adulthood. Now, I’m not saying I would stomp around like a madman every time I had a stressful day at work, but I was definitely still prone to crying when I felt overwhelmed and even occasionally ventured towards breakdown territory over completely ridiculous things like shopping for clothes (I hate spending money on myself and really hate trying things on in those disgusting claustrophobic changing rooms; I am sadly not exaggerating when I say that I have left the mall in tears — without buying anything! — more than once). Even after making so many other positive changes in my life when I was about 25, I sort of just accepted that my inability to handle stress was an inherent personality flaw that I (and, sadly for them, everyone around me!) would just have to live with. I hated it, but I considered it as much a permanent part of me as my frizzy hair or freakishly thick toenails: it didn’t seem to be something that was within my power to change.
With that knowledge of my shameful inability to handle stress in mind, let’s return to the missing car debacle:
At the time of this tale, TFW and I were living in a condo complex in San Diego. Our condo included a single car garage, which we always used for his car since it actually had value, and an uncovered parking spot nearby in which we parked my far-crappier vehicle. When we departed for our honeymoon, we took his car, leaving my car in its usual spot. Before you say anything, just shut up — I already know what you’re thinking: why didn’t we think to move my car into the empty garage? Because we’re dumb, OK? Is that what you wanted to hear? Sheesh.
Anyway, our honeymoon went swimmingly, save for the return trip when our original flight got canceled and we weren’t able to get on another one until 12 hours later (causing me to miss an extra day of work for which I did not have any remaining vacation time to accommodate, meaning I spent the following week working 10 hour days to make up for it, but I digress). We finally landed back in Los Angeles at about 2am on Friday morning, and by the time we got our bags, picked up TFW’s car, and drove the two hours back home to San Diego, it was nearly 5am and we were exhausted. As we pulled into the garage, I took a look around our surroundings in that way you do when you return home after being away for a while (“oh yeah, this is what my house looks like!”), and noticed that something seemed…off. A closer examination revealed that something was indeed amiss: the parking spot where I’d left my car was empty.
“Um, where’s my car?” I asked TFW, tragically missing an opportunity to quote Ashton Kutcher by not prefacing the question with “dude.”
We sat there in the garage for a few minutes trying to remember if we had moved it before we left or somehow forgotten that we had loaned it to someone, but no: my car was definitely it its spot when we left, and it definitely was not there now.
Discovering that your car has gone missing is certainly cause for concern, and I wouldn’t blame anyone for stressing out over such a situation…but it was 5am and I had to work in three hours (remember, no more vacation days — I had to work), and I just did not have it in me to care. I think my tiredness blocked out the part of my brain that would normally react with tears and panic, and instead I just sat there and calmly assessed the situation. The car was either stolen or had been towed for some reason, and there was nothing I could do about it in that moment. Crying wasn’t going to solve anything and would have taken far more energy than I had at my disposal, so I just went to bed and decided I’d figure it out in the morning.
My initial reaction was atypical for me, but as I mentioned, it could have been caused by my tiredness. The true test came later that day when I called the police to figure out what happened and found out that the car had been impounded five days prior due to the home owners association reporting it as an “abandoned vehicle”. The cost to get it out of impound: FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS.
Let that sink in for a moment: my car, which was parked in a spot assigned to me and was violating no rules whatsoever, was impounded and I was going to have to pay five hundred dollars to get it back.
AND I STILL DIDN’T FREAK OUT.
It was like one of those corny epiphany moments you’d see in a multi-camera sitcom, where the character literally hears angelic harp music as they make a profound discovery about themselves (usually that they are totally in love with their best friend, a “twist” we all saw coming four seasons ago). It was as if something flipped in my brain: for the first time in my life, I felt like I had a choice in how I would react to the situation. I could see things so clearly! Did the situation suck? Sure, but why should I make things worse by being miserable about it? I had just married the love of my life and spent 10 glorious days in the best place on earth (Hawaii) — why taint such a lovely time in my life with a week-long panic attack about a stupid car?
So I paid the stupid money and got my stupid car back, and then I fought with the stupid HOA board until those stupid idiots reimbursed me for their stupid decision to impound my stupid car.
(Sidenote: the reason they thought it was “abandoned” was because it was so dirty. Woops.)
This was almost four years ago, and I still think about it all the time. It truly was a turning point in my life, the point in which I realized that I do have control over my emotions and can decide how I react to stressful situations. It was one of the most liberating feelings I’ve ever experienced.
I do still get stressed out and overwhelmed sometimes, like any normal person. And yes, sometimes life gets the best of me and I cry over something like being too sick to make six million cupcakes for my grandma’s birthday party. But most of the time, I think about that stupid car and remind myself that even if I can’t control the situation, I can choose to continue to be happy while dealing with the problem.
And who wouldn’t want to choose happiness?
I give most of the credit towards my reaction to the car situation to the great state of Hawaii; had we been returning from a less relaxing and beautiful vacation, perhaps my reaction would have been different.
*my solution: I rarely did homework.
The Baby Is Fine 