Sarcasm and Scorn Take Time I Don't Have

Do You Have That Kind of Time?

“Annie, you don’t have that kind of time.”

~ Anne Lamott’s best friend, Pammy

“Chris, you don’t have that kind of time.” I say it to myself often these days. I say it when I’m a nanosecond away from an angry retort. I say it when I’m a nanosecond away from a comment. I say it in my head when I think about just how I will strike back, strike out.

“Chris, you don’t have that kind of time” stops me in my tracks as I veer toward the lowest of the low roads. I aspire to reach the high road. But I find I’m stuck somewhere just above the low road, and I’m not having much success at ascending to even the middle road.

I’m fortunate that the majority of the time I drive the low road only in my brain. I don’t take that road on a public or personal journey (most of the time). However, knowing that I far too often consider dropping down to the lowest of low roads brings me up short. The words I say and (even rehearse) in my mind, and my devious plans to speak them with a plain, bold tone of sarcasm and scorn remain unspoken for the most part. But I don’t like even thinking them.

A soft answer and a movement toward the high road often turn away wrath, but that becomes less and less the case in our say-it-all society. So I ask myself what kind of time I have. I remind myself that refusing to answer ends a conversation that isn’t worth having. If there is no path toward a higher road, then it’s best to save my energy, my psyche, and my voice. I know the time will come when a soft voice matters and when ears are primed to listen with enough attention to hear it. At that time, I can move toward that higher road.

For now, when I feel my gorge rise and my heart race, I know my words and ideas will be met with the sarcasm and scorn I want to avoid sharing myself. So I banish my impulse to speak and close my heart and mouth to words of sarcasm and scorn. I continue to remind myself: “Chris, you don’t have that kind of time.”