What Frustrates Me
Being at peace is all about not sweating the small stuff. I see myself and many people with whom I interact getting frustrated very easily. Frustration seems like it is most often part of the “small stuff”. I just now typed the word “needlessly” to modify the word “frustrated” in the prior sentence and chose to delete it since it is judgmental to say what I or anyone else considers legitimately frustrating. In fact, being frustrated is something that is a state of being and not so very subject to interpretation of others. In fact, I’m not so sure that even the individual that might be frustrated can really judge for themselves if they are frustrated since most of us don’t like to admit to our darker emotions. Who among us has not occasionally said something like “I am not mad, Godammit!” It is like Einstein’s theory of relativity that says that the observation of an event tends to change that event. If you observe and/or comment or ask about frustration, it somehow changes that state of being as people just don’t want to admit to or perhaps even be in a state of frustration. It seems to be a lesser emotion and feels petty when brought into the light. And yet frustration can be palpable and can change the tone of an interaction and can clearly swing a state of mind from positive to negative. Frustration is almost an aura that gets broadcast into the room when someone feels it most strongly. That makes it a bit like a fart that gets released into the room. Sometimes it is loud and noticeable and sometimes it is silent and equally deadly.
Part of my mantra these days is to not allow myself as much frustration as I have expressed in days past. I imagine that chanting and saying, “Ommmmmmm” enough is part of ridding ourselves of unwanted frustrations. Kumbaya may now be a somewhat derogatory expression that connotes naïveté for peace and harmony, but it is derived from the Central African expression which means “Come by here” and is a suggestion of openness and friendliness towards others. We sing Kumbaya around the campfire and imbue it with a collective warmth for one another where we ignore each other’s frailties and accept one another as much for those frailties as anything else. That all said, we are imperfect human beings and are rarely always good-hearted in our reactions.
This is Thursday morning, which means it is the day when the cleaning crew comes by in the morning to blitzkrieg our home. They come as a gaggle of about six or seven young women of Hispanic origin, who mostly only speak Spanish and are all fairly short in stature, which implies a certain indigenous people heritage. They are a hard-working crew that tackles everything that needs cleaning in the house. Given where we live here in a border town, we are very used to interacting with many people of Hispanic origin, recognizing that they represent all forms of the immigrant population. Some are certainly naturalized citizens, some surely have permanent resident status via Green Cards, some are probably Dreamers in that they have grown up here their whole lives but are children of illegal aliens, and yes, some, I am certain, are here illegally. We have learned not to ask, and, quite frankly, I don’t think we really care.
These hard-working young people move furniture and scrub everything top to bottom. This swarming approach to housekeeping pretty much requires that we get out of the house while they are here so that they can be as efficient as they need to be and we can avoid watching while the sausage is getting made. Thursday mornings seem to incessantly roll around and I always find that I feel put upon to be ejected from my home even though it is only for several hours and for a very good cause of keeping us from having to take on the burden of cleanliness of our surroundings. Kim does plenty of housework each week, including taking care of the trash and all the clothes washing, and I do plenty of outdoor work in the garden, but this weekly deep clean is something we both want. I just don’t want to be displaced from my home. It frustrates me.
So, I start out in a bad mood on Thursday mornings and I know that’s both silly and wrong. I am a big advocate of increased immigration. I want there to be a clearer and easier path to citizenship and Green Cards for immigrants and asylum seekers. I want Dreamers to be given citizenship. And I want more of these earnest, hard-working people, like the girls on this cleaning crew, to be able to be given legitimacy so they do not have the burden of being deemed illegals with all the problems that come with that and all the denial or rights that they forego because of that designation. So, I am not bothered by the crew, I just wish it could all happen without my displacement. If my mood is a painting, the Thursday canvas gets washed with a dull grey background of frustration about losing control of my surroundings.
Just before bed last night, Kim told me that her nephew Will would be driving down from Pasadena this morning and joining us for breakfast at 7am. This early departure from Pasadena was for two reasons, to beat the morning traffic and to depart in concert with his hosts, brother Josh and Haj who were leaving town. Kim made the decision that I should go buy breakfast burritos for the gathering. Let’s be clear, I had nothing pressing to do this morning, but had otherwise planned to do some ongoing garden work like setting the new stone border by the road. This is a multi-day task that has absolutely no time deadline, so one day more or less is neither here nor there. I tried calling the local Market at 6:45am to order the burritos, but the Market only opened at 7am. So, while Kim took Betty for her morning walk, I headed to the Market to get our breakfast. As I passed Kim at the corner I saw she was on the phone, so I stopped rather than just drive by. She had called Will, who told her he had not left at 5am as planned and was still in Pasadena, because it was raining. She told me that from under her rain hood, since it was also raining on our hilltop. It seems he did not call or text her since he didn’t want to wake her…while he slept in on a rainy morning as Josh and Haj flew off to wherever they were headed. I turned the car around and went back into the garage and I could feel the frustration oozing out of my pores.
I could go on to innumerate other frustrations I encounter on any given morning, but let’s stay with nephew Will to make a point. When I learned of the situation I told Kim that this was a classic “Will” move. And I stand by that, but here’s the thing, Will is a very sweet and loving bear of a guy. He hasn’t got a nasty bone in his body. He is guilty of nothing worse than perhaps sleeping, eating or drinking more than he should and those are, for the most part, victimless sins. He wanted to do nothing more than stop by to see us and to catch up over a free breakfast (or lunch as it turned out). If that is the worst you can say about a person, that’s pretty good. I am ashamed that Will frustrated me momentarily this morning and it reminds me of how necessary it is for me to work harder to not let small things frustrate me. If anyone has a prescription for frustration Beano, let me know.