It happened in a blink. Years ago, I wouldn't even have noticed that the feeling came and was stuffed down again.Today, I was looking for a sharp knife to cut a loaf of bread. There was one in the knife rack, but it was big, and I always like to use the smallest, dullest knife that will suit my purpose, because I have an extreme fear of death, um, I mean, sharp objects. I opened the dishwasher, which I assumed was full of clean dishes. I pulled out a steak knife and found it was covered in crud. The dishes in the dishwasher were dirty.
And I felt pissed off at my husband. I was angry that the knife I wanted to use was dirty, and I would either have to wash the knife or use a non-preferred knife. I was angry that the smaller knife had clearly been used to cut something that (in my mind) didn't absolutely require a sharp knife, something I would have cut (because I fear knives) with a butter knife.
Years ago, that emotion would have been stuffed rather than examined, and it would have come out later in critical, passive-aggressive comments about my husband's knife choice on future occasions. But when I caught that emotion flitting by and actually stopped to take a look at it, I saw that my husband hadn't actually done anything inconsiderate. He hadn't done anything to purposefully inconvenience me. He hadn't done anything wrong. He needed a knife. He picked up one that was clean and would cut the food he needed to cut. Then he placed that knife in the dishwasher with the dirty dishes and closed the dishwasher.
What was wrong with the situation was my fear: the fear that was driving my rigid need for control of my environment, my insistence on using a particular knife for the job I wanted to do, and my belief that everyone ought to do things in a way that was comfortable and convenient for me rather than for them. It looks like it's time for me to give my higher power a knife rack.
This post originally published at The Second Road on October 19, 2008.
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