I Feel Rage Sometimes & Other Surprises

The other day I awkwardly tried not to eavesdrop in my office when Greg and Brad were having a logistics discussion about setting up one of the billion events this week right outside my door.

Greg caught my eye: “ You want to help with the 5 am setup, Julie?”

I audibly groaned.  These people that make magic happen behind the scenes are seriously heroes. 

Greg laughed at my reaction: “I heard recently you aren’t the same Julie when you are tired.”

I’m guessing he heard this from my recent trip to Charlotte with fitness folks, when I ditched everyone at the hotel bar at the embarrassingly early hour of 8:15pm and happily crawled into my PJs and bed to Facetime with my family (but mostly my dog.) See proof below.

To be fair, this was the night after a 3:30 am wake up call to catch a 5 am flight out of Jackson.  

But also, he’s right.  I fade every night, whether or not I have an obscenely early wake up, at just about that time. The people that love me know I’m tired, because I begin to wax eloquently about the increasingly dire state of the world.  My pessimism correlates with my figurative gas tank.  The emptier I am, the more dramatic I become about our future as a human race, or the fact that I’ve wasted my life, or I should have added more pepper to the lemon pepper chicken, or how will we afford college tuition, or what will I do when my parents die. 

This too, may surprise you.  As my husband says, I am the most optimistic pessimist he knows.

The funny thing is, I’m often not feeling optimistic, even when I come across that way at my peak time of day: God’s hour, 8:00 AM.  Have I already told this story in this blog? Almost certainly, but here is is again:

It’s a sunny springy morning about ten years ago when I was still a professor at Millsaps.  The curmudgeonly-about-to-retire music faculty member intersects with my path as I am making my way to Sullivan Harrell Hall.  

“Good morning,” I chirp in harmony with the birds.

He doesn’t  even manage a hello in reply, just a sort of guttural grunt from the back of his throat.  Then, as an addendum to his half-baked greeting, he says, “you are the happiest person I have ever met, Julie.”

I normally let that kind of thing slide.  I’ve heard it before and I’l hear it again.  But that particular morning had been distinctly challenging.  Alianna had kept me up all night wanting to nurse, there had been potty training mishaps battles with Zander, and Lucy had just burst into tears in the car for no reason.  I had a major headache and I was still wondering what in the world I was doing in MIssissippi when all of our family network was in Indiana. 

So yeah, I snapped.

“I AM NOT HAPPY!” I shouted. “I am a woman, and I am from the midwest, and I have been enculturated to put on a happy face in order to ensure that everyone AROUND me is comfortable.  This is not me HAPPY.  This is me going through interactive norms that I have internalized so deeply they have become automatic.”

He sort of backed away, aghast.  Poor guy. 

Here’s the thing. My “good morning” that day was not inauthentic.   I’m really not “faking it.”  Often I am pretty darn enthusiastically pumped about all the things I love: teaching, students, our school, parenting, my kids, going on runs, the podcasts, friends, the smell of fresh grass, fun facts, dumb jokes, trying new recipes/meal planning, a good book, a movie that makes me think, the sunset the other night.  This world takes my breath away routinely.  But on the days that have not treated me all that well personally, I find putting on a smile and connecting with people around me doesn’t feel like a lie . . . it feels like grace.  And I actually think getting outside of ourselves and our ego-centric mind spirals is the gift of being in community. And  I think faking it until we make it or become it can actually be a thing. 

Ok here’s another shocker to those that may not know me well: I do, indeed, get angry.

I recall when I was fairly young, maybe 11 or 12, we were leaving a church function.  I had the reputation among all the adults I knew there of being pretty mature for my age (aka a total nerd that felt more comfortable around grown ups and long theological diatribes than unpredictable interactions with teens in youth group).  As we were leaving, I started arguing with my mom about something in a not-so-mature, some-could-say bratty tone. I was tired and I didn’t want to go to school the next morning and I unfortunately took it out on my mother.  I said something sharp and sarcastic, angry barb-wire-words, and then I gasped.  Someone from church had been walking to their car right behind us and heard it all.

I was humiliated and cried in the car.  My mom laughed.  “Of course you get angry sometimes.  You’re not perfect!” she said.  “Believe me, they knew that already.”

This time of year, in fact, the time in which we are all overloaded and overwhelmed and operating in scarcity of time/resource/energy and often have wildly different priorities in our roles can be a frustration-inducing time for me at my job. I know I am not alone in this.  Oftentimes in a single meeting or class, I will feel all of these these feelings for the amazing people or initiatives/tasks in our community: gratitude; frustration/annoyance; confusion; clarity; stress; hope; excitement; injustice; hope; peace; hopelessness; and yes, from time to time, a tad bit of rage. The jobs we have at a school are SO DARN interdependent AND interpersonal.  And we all are invested so highly in what we do here.  It can’t be that surprising that the full spectrum of human emotion, the ups and the downs, can accompany a single 60 minute session of the good and hard work that we do.   Honestly it’s a miracle we hold it together as well as we do.  I have yet to see a fist fight erupt among colleagues, and so very often there is laughter and quick forgiveness/ humility. 

Sidenote: rage is often the wrong emotion, I know.  But I still let myself feel it in a detached, curious sort of way.  “Hmmm . . . i”m having a strong reaction to . . . [insert something a  student or colleague said/did/wrote].  What’s really going on here?”  I learn a lot about myself and my work and what matters to me.  Rage is like a built-in value indicator.  Or an indicator that I need to sleep.   But it is rarely an indicator of “true injustice” and it rarely gives me an accurate or rational portrayal of what is going on in the moment in other people’s heads.  I have lived long enough to know this.  

So yeah.  I get exhausted at night.  I’m fairly pessimistic by nature.  Also, I get ragey from time to time. 

Wanna make something of it?!