Freedom Over Victimhood - Always!

Yesterday, I went to the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center concert at Spa Theater in Saratoga Spa Park—Beethoven’s Quintet for Piano and Winds. Once upon a time, I couldn’t sit through a classical concert without fidgeting, clock-watching, or plotting my escape. Meditation practice has changed that. These days, I can enjoy 90 to 120 minutes of stillness, grace, and music, surrounded by a sea of white-haired regulars. Chris and I used to go together, but now it’s just me—with a rotating cast of friends, or sometimes solo, which I secretly love. Quiet Sunday, easy parking, music, maybe dinner after. A treat.
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This time, the friend I brought along for a show and dinner considers herself a Yelper extraordinaire—official restaurant critic. Who it was doesn’t matter—it’s the archetype that matters. Picture someone with a critic on full alert: never, ever put down the entrée plate before the appetizer plate is cleared; God help the server who dares to up-charge for a “simple” sauce swap! I noticed, about halfway through the evening, that her critiques were hijacking my joy—not because she was doing anything to me, but because I was handing over my peace on a silver platter. DMGS check-in: “Sweetheart, whose mood are you in charge of again?”

Here’s the truth: I used to stew and steam and fume and fester. Judge, rant, seethe about how such negative people suck, how they should act, what they should say. I’d vent, rehash the misery, and spin in mental loops for days. Now? I notice. I pause. I get curious: What might I do differently next time? I’m in limbo between old habits and new practices, but the shift is happening. Less victim, more witness and scientist-in-training.

I think it’s time for a Field Guide-worthy name for this old pattern. How about the JWO—the Judgment Warrant Officer? Or BNC-P—Bitter Negative Closeminded Protection Police? Maybe even Cassidy from the “Shut Down and Bitch Along Posse.” (I’m open to your votes.) Naming the inner cast adds levity and helps me remember: these characters aren’t villains. They’re just parts of me, running outdated scripts, trying to protect me from disappointment.

Journaling this morning, I wrote down the big questions: What’s my intention? What’s my commitment to that intention? What tools can I use to express it? What am I willing to do about it NO MATTER WHAT the scenario. My intention, I realized, is positive—not negative. I’m not here to shut people out or fix them. I’m here to stay present, to be curious, and to explore creative ways to shift my experience. I’m willing to pause. I’m willing to play. I’m willing to get it hilariously wrong and keep trying.

So, what works? Definitely not wisecracks or “what’s your solution” retorts—those only work if you’re the boss, and they’re paid to listen. Here’s what I’m experimenting with instead:

• Consider the source. Is this person even capable of what I’m expecting? What script are they running? What story are they stuck in? How's that mirror looking, missy?
• Practice micro-pauses. Breathe. Look around. Feel the chair under me. Notice the energy, where is it in my nose or toes or tummy? Is the flow upbeat or downtrodden?
• Shift position, not people. Literally. Sit differently, change the view, excuse myself to the restroom, or refocus my attention. Create physical space then focus on possible different doors of opportunity for conversation or intimacy.
• Silently play: “What’s hilarious about this?” Bonus points if I can collect absurd details like a field reporter gathering material. I can play with those later... write them down in my handy wee field guide notebook.

​Because here’s the upside: I get to use every one of these moments as practice. These people? They’re my training partners. Instead of dodging them, I get to practice my DMGS moves—curiosity, non-reactivity, and maybe even compassion (on a good day). When I remember that, I become what I call a free operator. Not because I control them, but because I refuse to hand them my remote control.

Which brings me to Field Guide Rule #41: Fodder, Not Frustration. Translation? Use everything for practice. The concert, the meal, the Yelp recitations, the snippy mood—fodder. Not frustration. That’s how I keep my seat at the table and inside my own skin.

So here’s where I land today: I’m not here to avoid tricky people or curate my companions like a social media feed. I’m here to practice living free—right in the middle of Beethoven’s woodwind swells, the clatter of appetizer plates, and yes, even the rants about the sauce. And if I play this right, maybe I leave the evening with more than just a lovely meal—I leave with another round of freedom under my belt. And that, my friends, gets my five-star review.

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