Can I Get a Little Breathing Room?

It’s that time of year where the world seems by nature to simply be more crowded. We’re all out and about, trying to get things done, to plan, to socialize, to shop. Everyone has a never-ending to-do list and no time to do it all. So—we’re rushing, we’re hustling, we’re busy.

And I’ll admit it, I think I might have personal space issues.

However, I’m pretty sure, when we’re standing in line at the bagel store, that if you’re riding me like a backpack and the cashier thinks that your daughter is my daughter because she’s basically climbing up my hip…you’re crowding me. There’s no need to crush up behind me like we’re in the mosh pit at a Violent Femmes concert. We’re just ordering breakfast. And I promise, you’ll get your dozen mixed bagels just as soon as I get my son’s egg sandwich and one large, strong coffee with cream. Because, when you’re standing on top of me? I get all edgy, and antsy, and I start to grow annoyed by your sugary and overly-loud conversation with your child, who I would normally think was kind of cute in her princess nightgown and fuzzy pink slippers. I see that you’re still in your slippers as well, so this Saturday morning should be a relaxed, comfortable time for all of us. No crowding necessary. Just take a step back and let me catch my breath.

And let’s not even talk about how pushy you are in your car. I’m simply trying to enter the slow lane on the freeway from the on-ramp. I’m not trying to edge you out of a trophy at the Indy 500 or to stop you from “winning” the merge. I just need to get into your lane at some type of normal speed before I run out of space and crash into the quickly-approaching concrete retaining wall. God forbid there should be a lane change that happens peacefully, without you up-shifting into Mach 5 to make sure you get ahead of me. I see your elementary school bumper sticker. I know where your kid goes to school. I’ll probably see you at the next PTA meeting and you’ll be super embarrassed when you remember how you completely transformed your face into a purple exploding ghoul-mask simply because I got on the freeway.

Hey, I also realize that there are literally no parking spaces. Anywhere. So we’ve got to just relax while we’re on our fourth loop of the same stretch of asphalt. Enjoy that song on the radio. We’re like airplanes running a holding pattern over the landing strip. Eventually, one of us is going to get lucky, but you’re not driving a snow plow, so chances are if I’m closer, I’ll get the spot, despite your attempts to vehicularly bully me out of the way.

It’s no secret that I don’t love crowds (does anyone?), but if I’m in a crowded venue, I accept that we are all going to be squished together. That’s okay. What I’m objecting too, more often, is the lack of awareness that we’re all here. Together.

So maybe it’s actually more about manners than breathing room. We share space in the world with many, many people and we’re all just trying to handle our days with a little grace and happiness and hopefully, once in a while, some generosity. Some people are more successful at accomplishing this than others. I think they’re the thoughtful ones. Because, you know? The time to discuss—loudly and at length, via cell phone—your poor father-in-law’s recent batch of colonoscopy complications is not while you’re perusing women’s knits in the department store. I’m here too, trying to pick out a cute sweater for my niece, and it’s hard to enjoy a rare, blissful moment of shopping for something that isn’t pre-packaged for school lunches while I’m force-listening to your blow-by-blow of the medical procedure and its messy aftermath. That’s not something I want to participate in as a bystander. It’s not how I want to remember my fleeting public encounter with you.

What I’d rather remember? Is that time that you called out after me, holding out the wallet that had fallen out of my purse without me noticing it. You really saved me that day. I love thinking about that time you stopped in the street, put down all of your packages, and rummaged through your purse for a band-aid for my wailing and bleeding toddler. And remember when you offered to let me step ahead of you in the line at the grocery store, since I had just the one item? And on the day when I was literally oozing grief after losing my dad, you told me that my scarf matched my eyes just perfectly and that I had such lovely hair. You had no idea how that kindness touched me, lifted me up.

We’re all pretty good about the auto-pilot manners. Most of us hold doors open for the people behind us and throw around a please and thank you to the grocery checker or the food server who is delivering our cheeseburgers. But we need to occasionally slow down and look up at the world around us. Remember to take the time to care. Let’s all try to make sure we’re treading lightly in the space we’re occupying. Just give the people nearby a little breathing room, a little consideration.

So maybe, just once in a while, go ahead and wave that car in on the freeway in front of you.

Compliment the person next to you.  

Take a deep breath.

Smile.