Who is the problem here?

After I took my daughter back to college, I flew home to Texas. The flight landed late at night, and Brian was still in surgery, so I waited at the airport until he could finish and pick me up.

The air outside was still hot and heavy with humidity, so I decided to wait inside. It was empty—and mostly quiet, except for the hum of a floor cleaner nearby. I found a vacant chair and slumped into it. I was tired, and relished the few moments of peace I had stumbled upon. I closed my eyes.

Clip-clop.

Clip-clop.

Clip-clop.

My right eyelid opened halfway, and I could see a woman walking toward me. I closed my eye again, and expected the clip-clopping of her shoes to fade as she passed by.

That did not happen.

Annoyed, I sat up and opened both eyes, watching her move closer and closer. She looked around at the entire gate full of EMPTY seats—EMPTY!—and sat down two chairs away. TWO. Like only ONE seat between us. Then, she opened her phone and began talking to someone on speaker. Peace, be gone.

LADY!!!

I was in disbelief. WHY would she sit soooo close to me?! Isn’t there an unspoken rule that when you are in an empty airport sitting at a completely empty gate with hundreds of chairs available that you don’t sit RIGHT NEXT TO A STRANGER???

Was I the only one who knew about this? Is common courtesy a thing of naught??

The rest of my waiting was done in agitation. I was annoyed and frankly, angry. When Brian arrived, I practically ran outside, ready to get home and into my own bed.

I’ve thought about this experience a lot lately.

Who was really the problem—the strange woman who sat down nearby, or me?

According to the texts I sent to my family group chat, the problem was definitely the woman! She was rude, and intrusive, and had no manners. However, after careful thought and some time, I could see that what the woman actually did was sit down on a chair in an empty airport (and talk to someone). I was the one who felt annoyed. I was the one who got angry. And I was the one who could have easily moved to another chair but didn’t because I was too stubborn, and too convinced that I was right.

I was the problem.

I kind of hate it when that happens.

Being the problem stinks, because you can’t blame anyone else for how you feel, or how you act. And sometimes I like blaming other people. I kind of like believing that I wouldn’t get angry if people weren’t dumb, or rude, or annoying. But it’s only fun for a minute—when you realize the only way for you to feel peaceful and happy is by controlling every person and every situation—the fun disappears.

I like fun. Don’t you?

So no matter the situation you’re in, you can always ask yourself this question:

Who is really the problem, here?

And if the answer is YOU…

Sigh.

Me too, dude, me too.