Yesterday, when I pulled up to get gas in a small town, a man named Titus leaned in my window. He told me he was a veteran and that he needed 1.69 to buy his sodas that were sitting on the counter in the station. He reached into my Toyota, shook my hand and sedated me with his drunken breath. I grabbed the $2 from between the seats and gave it to him, but felt a bit rattled, as Titus hadn’t observed the usual rules of personal space.  He had leaned into my face. He had grabbed my hand.  The night got stranger, but I’ll save that story  (and this topic) for later. It’s been a long 3 days.

I left Stevens Point, Wisconsin on Monday and headed West. My final destination is Oregon, but I have to make a few stops in Colorado. The most obscure routes keep me awake while the interstate bores me to sleep,  so I decided to go across Minnesota, journey through South Dakota and on the third day, camp in Laramie  at a  “nice” (over $25) campground with reliable internet.  I need dependable internet service, especially on  Wednesdays; that’s the day I meet synchronously with students.  The internet was good for awhile, but as soon as students started entering class, it cut out. I panicked. My Wednesday night meetings are required.  I went to the office and asked for help. The person working assured me that she had nothing to do with the internet and I should call the “internet expert.” She handed me the number.  I called and left a voice message.  My inner child stomped her feet. I was already 15 minutes late; my students were eagerly awaiting my return. I left another  message with the illusive  internet expert. My voice was assertive but not aggressive; my inner child’s mouth was filthy.  Again, I approached the person at the desk. She didn’t seem to grasp the gravity of my problem. One of my students called me and I asked her to let the others know I was on my way.  I unhooked the RV and drove to McDonald’s, where I managed to salvage half of one class and complete the other  from the front seat of my Minnie Winnie.

In last week’s class, our focus at was emotional intelligence. Tonight, during the “what did I apply from last week” discussion,  I could tell my students that I had been very frustrated, but had not blown up. I’d practiced emotional intelligence by not reacting immediately. I had identified my feelings and responded appropriately. I’d refrained from throwing a tantrum, screaming, yelling and pulling out the cord from  their useless internet device.   Overtly, I was calm. Underneath my cool exterior and textbook  assertiveness, however,  things were not quite as rational.

The key to emotional intelligence is to understand that there are times when we have to make sure we keep that inner child locked in her room. I just hope she doesn’t write the letter to the campground before I do!