I Once Cried When My Taco Shell Broke

Once, during dinner with my parents, when I was maybe four or so, we were having tacos and my taco shell broke. I remember crying about it. I was so distraught about my broken taco shell and the contents of it spilled out onto the plate like the guts of the eviscerated hero in a Roman colosseum battle (oh, my, what a dumb image I’m attributing to a child’s mind) that I didn’t want to eat any more. Ridiculous, right?

That memory often comes to mind when I get upset about stupid things. For instance, I’ll be head down in work and, for whatever idiotic reason, I’ll get an urge to check if any new email needs attention, and then I’ll get pissed if there is a new email that needs attention because now I’m distracted from what I was doing and… So it goes. Easily irritated. My taco shell broke and I was the one who broke it. I do this a lot, give in to urges that I know could trigger me the wrong way. That’s okay. I’m getting better at identifying those urges and that’s a good first step. Also, I no longer cry when my taco shell breaks. That’s growth!