Courtesy of Winter Storm Jonas, we received 29.2″ of snowfall in a span of 36 hours last weekend. Everything completely shut down for about two days, and late in the afternoon the day after the storm passed, I knocked on four of my neighbor’s doors before getting my hands on a loaner shovel. (C’mon…it was the first time I’d needed one since I moved to Maryland – and that was four years ago!) I spent about two hours digging my Nissan out of its parking spot, along with several of the other tenants from my building digging out their own cars, in anticipation of having to get my ass to work the next morning. Then another hour later, when my roommate got home from her weekend out of town, we knocked on more doors, acquired more loaner shovels, and spent another half an hour clearing a spot for her. Space was limited, the snow was heavy, everyone was stir crazy, and even the plow (that only successfully cleared enough room for one lane to drive through the complex) got itself stuck in a snow bank. It was, in short, a mess. 

Fast forward a couple of days, and the parking lot still hasn’t been cleared all that well. MOST of us received the office’s email about driving counter-clockwise around the complex to avoid unnecessary issues while limited to one lane of traffic (…sigh), and several of us were placing chairs and hampers and ironing boards in the spots we had cleared for our cars as a way of informally reserving them for when we returned. We were all dealing with the weather the best we could, and since we were all in it together, it was fine.

…or so I thought. 

I came home last night around 9pm to discover that the lot had had some work done on it (maybe more by the unexpected 50F weather?)….aaaaaaaaaaaaand that my “reserved” spot was occupied, but no longer by my folding chair. That, actually, was sitting atop a pile of snow on the sidewalk. I was pretty pissed. I texted two friends to bitch about it, one of whom suggested I egg the car, and the other that I dump a pile of snow behind it, but in the end I just drove around until I found a place to park, went inside, and had some dinner. (And bitched some more. Naturally.) But whatever – I went to bed, annoyed that someone would actually get OUT of their vehicle to move my chair and take my space, yet resigned that it wasn’t all that big of a deal. 

According to the note that was left on my windshield this morning, though, it apparently was a VERY big deal.

  
I was so upset, I cried on my way to work. I wasn’t lazy! I dug out not one but TWO spots after Jonas! I didn’t touch your property – there wasn’t anything in the spot reserving it! Somebody moved MY chair and took MY spot! I didn’t so much as  leave a note on that car, and you’re threatening to SLASH MY TIRES?! …SERIOUSLY?! I’M the classless piece of shit? …Really? You didn’t even have the balls to sign your name! Or leave your apartment number!

These are the kinds of thoughts that ran though my mind all day. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I told all my co-workers and together we brainstormed what I should do. (My front-runner was taping the note to the main exit and calling out the bitch that made me cry. Totes a bitch’s handwriting, right?) It was consuming me, and I couldn’t decide what bothered me more, the fact that NOTHING in that note was true….or the fact that I was forced to admit that the most probable explanation to the whole thing was that whomever was hired by management to clear the lot had to move our chairs and hampers and ironing boards to do their job, and didn’t put them back when they finished. And that the night before I had gotten so pissed over the same thing. 

I left work and went straight to a yoga class – I hadn’t been in over a week (thanks, Jonas) and I was so looking forward to the opportunity to stretch my hips and lower back and clear my mind. I enjoyed a solid hour and a half of deep breathing, stretching, the meditation to which I’ve essentially become addicted, and not thinking about the damn note. I left the studio feeling lighter, and much less concerned with what I was going to do. As I drove home, I engaged myself in conversation, as I’m apt to do (that’s not weird, is it?) and as is often the case, when words came out of my mouth, I questioned whether they were true:

I don’t want to be the type of person that makes another feel badly about themselves – for any reason. I am grateful that in my own anger and frustration last night, I did not act upon it, and I did not make someone else feel like I felt when I read that note on my windshield.

I don’t want to be someone that others associate with negativity. 

I don’t want to feel the need to validate myself or my actions, especially when I know I did nothing wrong, or had no mal-intent. My clear conscious should be enough.

I want to honestly put this behind me, and the first step is to stop talking about it.

Turns out that yes, all of those things that came out of my mouth were true. Unfortunately, I’m not quite as mature as I’d like to think I am (I can hardly argue that blogging about it is in harmony with not talking about it, can I?) but I have decided that this is it. I’m burning the note (or engaging in a less dramatic version of disposing of it) and not talking about it anymore. I’m not taping it to the exit or writing a faux-apology that drips with passive-aggressive sarcasm or defends my actions while tooting my own horn. I’m not writing to the community management and demanding that they assign us parking spaces or plan better for the next blizzard that won’t hit us for another four to six years. I’m not even going to buy a shovel, dammit! – no, I’m just going to move on and go to bed. Because ultimately…it’s just a parking spot. And frankly, the two-hour snow-shoveling workout that my biceps still haven’t forgotten (or forgiven) was good for me. 

And because I want to be a person that doesn’t sweat or dwell on the small stuff, and this is a decent place to start.