zenjones

I practice with anger in all of its guises. I have the habit of thinking that anger looks like rage most of the time, but it is also manifests in annoyance, impatience, irritation, and a hundred other ways.

One of my habits is to be irritated, especially with my husband. He does not exhibit this particular habit, and, after experiencing it from another person at work, I can’t tell you how glad I am he doesn’t. And how determined I am to stop this behavior in myself.

I have a new job, and part of any new job is asking questions. It’s a slightly uncomfortable place to be—everyone has their deadlines, and stopping to answer a question is probably a pain in the neck. But it’s in their best interest that I get the right answer. This is especially true in Jason’s case. He’s the bookkeeper at the agency, and a lot of the things I will be doing—hiring, ordering, managing vendors and freelancers—will intersect with his work. If I do them incorrectly, it will make extra work for Jason as well as for me and add to confusion. And nowhere is any of this information written down—it’s all in Jason’s head.

I’ve already had some problems with Jason. He acts put out when I ask him a question, and then he gets furious when I try to do it without asking a question and make a mistake. He’s condescending, judgemental, and he complains without stop. Yesterday when I asked if now was a convenient time to ask a question about creating a purchase order, he first melodramatically flinched as if I’d hit him, and then cut me off mid-sentence, “Just ask the damn question!” I nearly laughed out loud.

Oh yes, one more thing: I sit next to Jason.

This is a wonderful place to work. Everyone—except Jason—is friendly, good at their jobs, and gets along well. Jason is the loneliest person, and not because of lack of trying on other people’s parts. Most of the time people ignore him, and maybe that’s what he wants. Because there is certainly nothing in his body language—or his verbal language—that welcomes anyone. He successfully keeps the world away, and finds ample evidence that the world is a dangerous, ugly place. Just look at the way people treat him!

And, of course, I recognize myself in him. I wonder if I, too, use my impatience and irritation to avoid intimacy, to keep my husband away. Not all the time, but when I’m afraid of something.

We are moving to a larger office space, and I think I will be able to decide where my desk will be situated. I was looking forward to the move with relief, thinking I could move away from Jason and be free of his unhealthy miasma. But maybe Jason is my Bengali tea boy. Maybe I will learn more if I stay near him, practice observation and opening my heart. Perhaps I will gain compassion for him. And for me?