I will not absorb the responsibility of regulating other people on their behalf.
I’m running on the bike path today by the water and it’s nice out so there are a lot of people milling around. Some folks are walking, others are biking. Some have dogs. A few are rollerblading and one or two are riding electric scooters. Some, like me, are running. I’m sticking to the right side of the path except to pass, and I’m hollering a crisp “on your left!” when I do.
Maybe it’s because I grew up skiing and that’s what my mom said skiers do, but I’m religious about it. It’s just... considerate. Plus, when I was a kid, my cousins and I would often being skiing together and we raced around the mountain like Tasmanian Devils. And we uh, well, we caused some trouble... So by instilling in us the credo of “on your left!” maybe my mom figured we’d at least be giving people a fair warning that we were tumbling through.
Well, as I’m trudging along by the water today, someone on an E-Bike comes ripping up from behind and swerves between me and a couple heading the opposite direction. So I jump off the path at the last second and scrape my way through the bushes along the side for a few steps.
Wow.
What an asshole…
I’ve never met anyone who had worse road rage than my dad did, so after seeing how mad he’d get and how long he’d stay that way, I’ve tried to develop a habit of letting go of any frustration as quickly as I can. It’s not always easy, but it feels better than wasting my energy fuming about something I have no control over. So I take a few deep breaths, and then cycle through a couple rounds of box breathing.
Good as new.
But then the same thing happens again. This time, it’s a mom and her two young kids on regular bikes. No “on your left!” No sheepish “sorry!” Nothing.
What the f—
Deep breath.
I’m going to enjoy this run. It’s beautiful out; like low 70s and slightly breezy. Not too sunny, but not cloudy either. I can smell fresh cut grass and the flowers along the waterfront park are in full bloom. My ankle’s not perfect but it’s doing so much better than it was. Life is good.
So when someone grazed my shoulder from behind, I turn and find another runner being overtaken by a couple of athletic looking cyclists. This is happening while a few teens on E Bikes are heading towards us, having just passed an elderly couple walking our way, too. Now I’m mad. Not a single one of them says a fucking thing. Not one word from anyone in this mess. I clamp my jaw and feel my shoulders snap closed around my neck. My hands fly up before I fully realize what’s happening. And then, just as my eyes start to flutter and my ears begin pulsing — everyone’s gone.
DOESN’T ANYONE KNOW THE ETIQUETTE IS TO SAY “ON YOUR LEFT!?”
Apparently not.
AM I REALLY MEANT TO CONSIDER EVERYONE ELSE WHEN THEY CAN’T BE BOTHERED TO CONSIDER ME??
Apparently.
More and more, it feels like people expect the world to cater to them! It’s like they feel entitled to accommodations from everyone, and would cry injustice if they don’t get them. And yet, I suspect they would simply never dream of accommodating anyone else.
Grrr.
As I continue my run, I’m picturing how it would’ve gone if I’d called each and every one of those people out for endangering the rest of us. I’m imagining they’d get upset with ME for even suggesting they think of considering the other people around them. Ohmygod... I... I’m the curmudgeony old guy... With a huff, I shake my head. Whatever. I’ve had it. We live in a society, right? That’s the agreement — we’re free to exercise our personal preferences until they infringe on someone else’s ability to do the same.
Blargh.
I’m trying to take deep breaths but I’ve lost count and I’m exhaling when I should be inhaling and now even my running steps feel out of rhythm. We’re in a place of shared space. Where my personal space ends, theirs begins. I am responsible for my side of that invisible fence, not theirs. Glancing out across the water, I notice the clouds are getting darker above the Adirondacks on the other side of the lake. We’ll probably catch a storm, soon. Figures.
While I’m running back towards home, I’m thinking about this idea of social boundaries, expectations, and who owns what when things spill into other people’s space. For me, it feels like if others tether their physical and/or emotional wellbeing to stuff that’s happening on my side of the “fence,” that’s a them-problem; not a me-problem. Until they ask for help without expecting it be bestowed unto them from the start.
If they can do that, then I’m good with it becoming a we-problem.
Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
326/365
Do you consider others or expect them to consider you?
onward.
For more on this daily column and The MAP Year Project, read the backstory.
Sign up to get it here.