Pitching a Bitch in Queens

One night at the Meditation in New York gathering Matthew was talking about how people get all wound up about certain things that really have no lasting meaning. He was talking about the folly of what Buddhists recognize as the fundamental ignorance, the idea that things in the world have inherent existence. The mind imputes the idea "car" onto a collection of things, none of which in itself is a car. Then we think the car is in itself inherently good or bad when one minute it's good, drives perfect, we're moving along, and the next, bad, no gas, goddamn it. So it appears that the home of reality is in the mind, not the world. There's a lot of freedom to be found in this way of looking at things, but only if time is taken to contemplate the continually cycling delusions.

He says "we get in a snit" about so and so. That's a big thing in Buddhism, trying to develop patience with things that we might find deeply irking, for instance, self-righteous Park Slope stroller moms. I read about these on blogs and in papers, but I have to say, I haven't met one. The moms I know are some good people. Better moms than I'll ever be.

Ah, to get in a snit. At the moment I hear that phrase, it amuses me, I've recognized when people around me have formed a peevish attachment to having things a certain way, given incidental details too much power, identified strongly with one set of circumstances and angrily or fearfully or self righteously shunned others. I hear the phrase "get in a snit," and I feel superior. I think about the NPR types who get exasperated (but secretly love) some people's poor grammar. Sometimes it's really funny to watch people get in a snit, that's a big part of the Curb Your Enthusiasm kind of humor. It's for that reason that I like to go in stores and ask people really stupid questions. I am planning a Reel Life visitation soon. I'm not like those uptight people, I think, I never get in a snit.

Except every five minutes. Last Sunday, for instance, I was in more than a snit. I was pitching a fit. No, I was pitching a bitch. I think I was just too tired for the plan to take 3 trains to the New York Hall of Science (fabulous museum, exhausting mine of wonders) schlep across Corona Park to Flushing and then willy-nilly all cool like find some kind of fun and good Chinese restaurant. 3 kids in tow, including a very fussy toddler who refused to nap that day and who must walk instead of ride in the stroller, all the way, very slowly, meandering from this tree to that cobble stone to that other thing. Plus, there was no coffee. And walking across Corona Park I got jealous of all the Hispanic people because they have expanded communities, extended families and they have fun together outside. Racing remote control cars. Playing soccer. Listening to music. Whatever...Being around them makes me feel sad and isolated. I would pass if I could. My little tribe, we are here on our own and we are isolated stick-up-the-butt yuppie types. We take ourselves too seriously. Get worked up over things that are really beyond our control. As if we could control it. As if we can avoid death by eating certain foods.

We make it through the Park, then there's the Botanic Garden. A couple is making out on a bench near a weeping willow tree that weeps willows to end all weeping. It's too much for me. I want to throw myself on the ground until the police have to put me in a squad car, but as a role model I have to keep walking.

So I started being really unpleasant and resentful for a while. My daughter makes a little complaint about something, and I let her know that if she is going to feel sorry for herself at that moment than I will outdo her in my campaign of misery, hands down. You know, I think I was really really tired that day. Bit off more than I could chew. Broke my jaw. Someone found part of it later at the diaper changing station at the Park Slope Barnes and Noble.

Finally I insist that we stop walking aimlessly and eat Vietnamese food immediately. The iced coffee... hmmmm. Really, it doesn't have the inherent power to make me happy? Sure perked me up. But not as much as just sitting on a seat did. And being helped by extremely patient waiters who not only served us food but seemed aware that their kindness was a necessary psychological first aid. The kindness of strangers, of Vietnamese waiters...