self-esteem – Roadkill Crossing

Reflections in a Pond. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

“Thinking is difficult. That’s why most people judge.” — Carl Jung

The morning sky was cerulean as I was on my way to deposit three bags of yard waste at the county landfill’s recycling center. When I turned onto Main St., traffic in both southbound lanes was stopped for some reason. I figured it might be a wreck at the next intersection.

Soon, vehicles in the right-hand lane began moving, so I merged into that lane. Then, I saw two Hispanic men walking from a fast-food restaurant to a dump truck five cars ahead. Had they really stopped their vehicle in the left lane to get something to eat? I zipped by the truck on the right and headed to my destination.

When I arrived at the landfill, I drove straight to where tree limbs, shrubs, leaves, and grass clippings were dumped, later to be ground into mulch. As I began unloading the three bags of sticks, leaves, and dead plants, the truck that blocked the road backed in beside me.

The two occupants quickly began to dump the truck’s load onto the huge pile. I kindly asked the driver what had happened where their vehicle had been stopped.

“You mean in front of McDonald’s?” the driver asked. I nodded in the affirmative.

“Oh, the transmission in the car beside us went out,” the man explained. “The lady was crying and didn’t know what to do, so we got out and pushed her car into the parking lot.”

I thanked them for their good deed of kindness and silently chastised myself for wrongly judging them. I was embarrassed by my egocentricity.

Why do we think so negatively when we don’t know all the facts? Why was I so self-centered simply because traffic was stalled? I wasn’t on a timed schedule.

Instead of being unnecessarily judgmental, why wasn’t I more curious about the situation? Jung’s relevant quote spoke to me. Jung was a Swiss psychologist and psychoanalyst in the 20th century.

I pondered all this on my way home. I thought more broadly about the current chaotic state our country is in. Is this the way bias and bigotry start, one little, insignificant episode at a time?

I didn’t consider myself biased toward others or a bigot—most people don’t—but this incident gave me pause. After a 30-year career in public education and a dozen more years in marketing, I always considered myself open-minded and fair toward others.

I wondered how many times in my lifetime I judged situations and other people without comprehending I was doing so. Probably a lot more than I care to recall. I suspect this septuagenarian is not alone in that regard.

So, how do we change our approach to life’s little hindrances? Professional contemplatives suggest starting with the breath: Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, they recommend.

I should have recognized this right away. Instead of long, deep breaths, I imagine my breathing was short and shallow, only adding to my unnecessary frustration and likely increasing my blood pressure.

From experience, I know that contemplative practices have many benefits. According to the Center for Contemplative Practices, they can improve health, mood, sleep, self-awareness, curiosity, and other personal gains.

Had I taken the time to remember and act upon these principles, my day would have started much differently. After all, how much effort does it take to pause, take a deep breath, and relax? The answer is not much.

However, I was bold enough to ask the men about the situation and received a straightforward answer that satisfied my inquisitiveness. Those good samaritans pulling in beside me at the landfill were a godsend. I imagine the women driver felt the same way.

So, the next time I tense up, I’ll try to remember to breathe in and out and not judge. How about you?

During my morning devotions, I try to include a brief time of meditation. A recent theme focused on observing rather than reacting with anger, fear, or judgment to human interactions.

Little did I know then that before the day would end, I would personally apply that lesson.

The day was foggy in the Shenandoah Valley. Random openings in the haze allowed the morning sunshine to poke through. The Blue Ridge Mountains, however, were socked in. I wanted to go there for one last chance to capture the beauty of a Shenandoah fall.

With the hope that the sun would eventually burn off the overcast, I headed to Shenandoah National Park. By the time I arrived shortly after noontime, that is precisely what happened.

Driving along the park’s extolled Skyline Drive is a joy at any time of the year. It is an absolute privilege to experience the fantastic colors of the fall foliage.

The park burst with scarlet, red, yellow, orange, amber, russet, brown, and crimson. Each hue complemented the others. I drove in the fresh, moist mountain air with the moon roof open and the windows partially down, taking in the autumn’s sights, sounds, and pungent fragrances.

I made several stops to photograph the scenery and finally recognized my fatigue at Big Meadows, where I stopped for lunch. The combination of my emotional exhilaration and the numerous times of exiting and reentering my vehicle had tired me. It was a reminder that my leg still had healing to do.

I retraced my route. Fog still rolled up out of the hollows and dissipated before my eyes. I continued to pull into nearly every overlook to capture the gorgeous splendor.

At my last stop, I reached for my camera, but it wasn’t there. I quickly searched in the vehicle, but the camera was gone. I must have left it on a stone wall at the last overlook where I had paused for an afternoon snack.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

In the five-mile backtrack, my thoughts ticked off the options. It could still be there. Someone may have turned the camera in, or it was gone.

For most of my life, I have been my own worst critic. I berate myself when I err or let my emotions control my mood because of a negative situation. Not this time.

Remembering the morning’s meditation, I mentally weighed the consequences of my lapse of concentration by leaving the camera. I also accepted the situation without self-judgment.

I had captured dozens of photos of the incredible scenery. Now, they could be lost. I still had the day’s experience, however. That would be serenity enough, camera or no camera.

When I arrived at the overlook, the camera was nowhere to be found. I used my best option. I returned to the Big Meadows visitors’ center and reported my camera missing.

I headed south again, making a couple of more stops before I arrived at the Swift Run entrance station, where I access the park. I asked the ranger if anyone had turned in a camera. To my amazement, she said a young woman had given her a camera only 30 minutes ago. It was mine!

Of course, I was ecstatic to have the camera back, but not as delighted as I was with my self-control. No anger, no negative thoughts, no self-blame had arisen.

It had been a fulfilling day. A morning lesson, time in nature, a senior moment, a trustworthy person, and a personal watershed breakthrough brought deep contentment. I could not have been happier.

© Bruce Stambaugh 2019