"Don't get in MY way."
The voice came from inside a grey ute. Slightly startled and wondering if I'd accidentally cycled into the Goldilocks' fairy tale ("Who's been eating MY porridge?"), I glanced into the vehicle and saw a firm - but to be fair, not menacing - face looking out at me, his sun-worn skin lending him age beyond his years.
As it happened I carried on well clear of his lane, and when we both turned on to the main road I watched as he aggressively tailgated the car in front before ultimately screeching past the poor driver who presumably hadn't been lucky enough to receive the same warning I did (though my sun-worn friend did seem to offer him a helpful dose of constructive criticism whilst speeding off).
But you know, for all I spent the rest of my ride pontificating on various witty retorts ("I'm sure that's a rule most girls do their damndest to keep" / "Got any plans for Valentine's Day?" etc.), I realised my leathery friend had at least one redeeming quality: he set out his position, and when this was compromised, he took action.
I'm going to let you into a secret, dear reader: I love instructions. I think it stems from Lego manuals as a youngster. What looked like a random assemble of bricks would, if I faithfully followed each step, magically transform into a space station (or a castle, or a fire engine - buildings were best, but vehicles with flashing lights which had 3 settings (3!) were pretty cool too).
Now keep this thought with you while we meander on - I promise the threads will entwine later...
There's one word in the English language that someone can use in conversation that makes my heart sink, my eyes narrow, and my whole frame start to cave just a little. With that one word I know damage has been done: this irreversible emotion may well fade in time, but will forever leave a slight tarnish.
"Disappointed."
Even reading it now, you feel a sense of flatness, don't you, dear reader? It conjures up moments we'd all prefer to forget; times when we've not been perceived to be at our best; episodes where we've felt frustratingly helpless, knowing there's little we can do. For even if the disappointment is unwarranted, I'd wager this is one of the most difficult feelings to dissipate. Under the right circumstances, anger can be quietened remarkably quickly, frustration can be calmed, and panic alleviated, but the half-life of disappointment can seem interminably drawn-out.
Fortunately, I've observed an interesting phenomenon: when we know what's expected of us, we are far less likely to disappoint one another. Sure, we may not always do exactly what was originally asked of us, but we understand the other person's needs and minimise the potential fallout when we give fair warning. We text when we're running 5 minutes late. We clarify that the visit can only be a short one. We flag that a project's going to finish a week after planned. People are just as frustrated I believe by the mismatch in original expectations, but for some not-entirely-fathomable reason (to my mind anyway) they don't wander into that spirit-crushing d-word territory - and the relationships recalibrate much more quickly as a result.
So where does the Lego fit in, I hear you ask? Well, from now on I'm going to try harder to issue - and listen to - instructions. For while I have no desire to share tarmac with my ute-driving neighbour again any time soon, my realisation that I couldn't profess to be disappointed by his behaviour has led me down a very interesting path indeed tonight. Luckily for me, he very much got in my way.
