Good Sunday to you, Reader! Today’s blog is being brought to you by four incredibly strong cups of coffee. We caught a red eye flight this morning out of Denver. It was cool to get away, but truly: home is feeling pretty perfect right now.
While we were gone, my son’s sleep schedule took a huge beating. Every time he woke up, he was someplace different: the airport, the rental car, the mountains in Boulder, the pubs in Denver…poor guy.
And poor us.
Babies have zero impulse control. Unlike an older child, a cranky infant cannot be reasoned with, nor can it be bribed into good behavior. So when my boy got tired, he screamed his beautiful little head off.
Having a baby has further highlighted what I’ve always known: a quick reaction to my bad feelings is immature. Babies can get away with it. But adults…not so. Don’t get me wrong; knee jerk reactions as an adult feel EXCELLENT. I’ve cussed at drivers. I’ve flipped my share of the bird. I’ve copped major attitude while I was hungry or tired or hurting.
But no matter how good it feels in the moment, in the end, the person who reacted with anger loses.
Case in point. Before we left town, I was putting in a lot of work at the building. On Wednesday morning, I was feeling particularly grateful for all of the people who backed my Kickstarter and allowed me to keep working on this project, so I posted that sentiment on Facebook and Twitter. Moments later, some stranger commented on my post, claiming that it was wrong of me to accept “handouts” from Kickstarter. He added a picture of a ‘thumbs down’ for effect.
I wanted to clock this guy.
My mind was racing. “Doesn’t he know that I have to reimburse the Kickstarters? Doesn’t he know how hard I’m working? Doesn’t he know his little jab was unjustified and I kind of want to throw a pie (of the non-delicious variety, because no way would I waste a good one on this jerk) in his face?”
I said none of those things.
I didn’t want to make a chain reaction out of an already bad thing. Instead I just deleted his comment and kept working, figuring some babies are just bigger than others.
Even though it doesn’t feel as satisfying, I’m always proud of myself for the times that I put a little time between my feelings and my response to them. While I sometimes miss my youth, ultimately, nothing beats growing up. After all, grown-ups can drink scotch. Cheers, Reader! -Em