I am terrible at being irritated

Oh, to more gracefully inhabit the land between anger and appeasement

This morning we left our campsite in the pouring rain, intent on completing a few chores before starting the work day. One of those chores was filling our freshwater tank. It’s a simple process: Attach filter to potable water spigot, attach hose to filter, feed hose into tank opening, turn on flow, stand waiting for a few minutes.

Except the spigot was not working.

Not finding water where we expect to is not a big deal in the greater scheme of the world (I mean, what a privileged problem; we have the resources to purchase jugs from a store if we must; we are not at actual risk of dehydration!) but feels like a big deal in the context of trying to be productive while living in a van (a fill-the-empty-water-tank odyssey can steal hours of our day—not to mention mental resources cycling through various scenarios—and in winter months there are sometimes hundreds of miles before the next opportunity).

I was already having a bad morning. I’d woken from nightmares, again. I’d lost my temper with Scout (sweet, sweet Scout who literally never does anything wrong and deserves my complete stability). I’d stepped in a puddle of rainwater mixed with improperly drained sewage at the dump station. By the time we rolled up to the water spigot and discovered we could not actually get water, I was close to despair.

So I called the campground office ready to have words. Scripts flashed through my mind as I listened to the line ring: “We paid a camping fee with the understanding we’d be able to access water!” “This is false advertising!” “I want a refund!”

Then a woman answered. A cheerful woman. A real woman. An actual human being with an inner world as complex (and as, I’m sure, sometimes challenging) as my own.

My ill-formed bravado vanished.

My voice wavered as I described the problem. I ended my sentences with rising pitch. At the end I profusely thanked her for her time. “It’s not a problem at all! Have a lovely day!”

I felt chastised and fraudulent and also… vaguely better? after hanging up. Who did I think I was, planning to eviscerate a state park employee over the phone because I was having a subpar morning? Other people are just doing their jobs and going about their lives. I don’t want to be the person who tears into them. (I can count how many times I have indeed been this person. It’s almost exclusively in the context of other handlers letting their off-leash dogs startle Scout—and I almost always feel awful afterward.)

But also who do I think I am, pretending a genuine inconvenience isn’t an issue when it is (even if small)?

I don’t know. When I swing between extremes—everything is terrible or everything is fine—I either feel like an asshole for overreacting or a pushover for pretending I’m cool, it’s all cool, only to later wish I could go back and make a different thoughtful case.

Oh, to be more consistently level headed. To more gracefully inhabit the land between anger and appeasement. To know where we will next fill up our water tank!