It is what it is

I had to pick up my new passport so I went to my district office. Behind the counter sat a friendly woman whom I recognized from previous passports, driver's licenses and other evidence of my existence.

It was extremely busy and the atmosphere in the waiting room was tense. But the lady behind the counter did her job in all calmness. She clearly had no intention of making any progress. In addition, my fellow drivers were all completely unprepared for the administrative procedures.

They had nothing with them. At least not the necessary documents. They could not prove that they were who they were or that they lived where they said they lived.

As a result, they wasted precious minutes at the counter. What am I saying? They were quarters. Precious quarters of which I have too little every day.

What my predecessors did have with them were whining toddlers, wandering old people – why? – and wayward teenagers who apparently weren’t allowed to be home alone. Oh yes, ringing telephones and clattering bunches of keys. They had those with them too. But no other valid information.

So it was slow. It was noisy and hot. I was irritated by her slowness. By now it was the man in front of me's turn and she listened attentively to the rambling story. My toes curled. Why did she take this ignorant, ill-prepared man seriously? Why didn't she cut the pleasantries short? 

That precious time she spent on him was mine. After all, I showed up fully prepared. The expectation that I would have to spend at least another half hour in that room made me slightly grumpy.

Grumpiness is not nice. I realized that I had no control over the situation. Then I realized that I did not and could not have any control over it. These are different things, dear reader.

I just let it go. And as always happens: then everything became simpler. It didn't go any faster. But I didn't find it downright annoying anymore.

'I don't have it that bad here,' I even thought.

In this civilized country, where I am allowed to pick up a travel document. And where every person has the right to such documents. Hallelujah.

What I let go of was not control, but the urge for control. I didn't have control anyway.

We all have the need to control circumstances. And when that doesn't work - for example because the lady behind the counter or the authorities or customs or our fellow human beings or life itself - have other plans for us, we get angry or frustrated.

That reaction is so damn tempting. But it's not economical. It's wasted energy and unnecessary stress.

Simply put: it is what it is.

The slow line at the district office is like accepting that your marriage is over. Or your job. Your dog is dying. The train is canceled. Your parents are dying. Your income is dropping dramatically.

If you don't have control over the situation, and can't have it, stop craving control. Control doesn't exist. Okay, you can control your bookkeeping. Your hunting dog, your bowel movements. You might be able to think of a few more things. But generally speaking, control is a smokescreen.

Why would you desire something that is beyond your control? Your deep desire for it to be different does not make it different.

The lady behind the counter also took the time for me. She filled in and put stamps and made a copy and a joke. She said something about my name to which I replied that I would have preferred to be called Pieter Peppermint which made her laugh, after which she flirted with a colleague and walked away for a moment and immediately returned with my new passport.

Together we played for a full quarter of an hour.

Hans Ruinemans, boardroom monk