The Expectation of Fury
How one, or both of us, made a mistake, and found healing in grace.
Writers note: This is a repost from March 22nd, 2023. I wrote this on another site before realizing Substack was the way to go. I felt it held poigance, so I wanted to share this, and a few other stories I wrote before I started Nat the Neurodivergent.
The other day I showed up just on time for an event I was scheduled to photograph.
This was my second event with this client, someone who had been referred to me by a colleague/mentor of mine, so I was eager to keep proving myself to them. This was slated to be a bigger event, 500+ guests, at a lovely venue in Philadelphia. I planned my route, pre-paid for parking using an app so that I could ensure I’d have a parking spot close to the event so I wouldn’t spend time stressing myself out trying to find an elusive parking spot along Broad Street.
I parked, hoofed it a couple of blocks, walked in, and… something didn’t feel right. I looked around, there was an event, there were tons of people, but upon looking at the signage, I determined I may not be where I should be. I called my contact, hoping that they were just inside the party and that I would quickly be led to my quiet corner to set up and start photographing the evening, only to be met with the realization that I was a city mile away from the real location.
One, or both of us, made a mistake.
I immediately panicked and rushed back to my car. I pulled up the location on gps and to my dismay, 25+ minutes, with rush hour traffic, to their location. I updated the contact, who had since sent me messages proclaiming apologies and an address to the correct place to park… which wasn’t the address I had found on Google. Fuck. Guess I’ll find out when I get there, I thought.
Words from my contact’s email flooded back to me “same place as last time…” of course she meant the building that her place of employment owned and utilized for small events, that I had photographed the first time we worked together. I felt like such a novice for assuming that because I had been asked to quote them for a second event prior to this, that my contact had perhaps conflated photographers. I read through the initial email again… no, I thought, it says the name of the venue right here…
I stressed out for the entire 25 minute drive. Every red light, every stop sign, every pedestrian who took their sweet time walking across intersections added to the building anxiety in my gut. I feared the out lash — the judgment, glares, negative reviews… I saw my friendship with the mentor that recommended me to them dwindling and no more recommendations ever coming that way again. Have I mentioned that I have a diagnosed anxiety condition?
When I got to the address… this was not the place. It was close, around the block, but for all of the one way streets in Philadelphia, I could not for the life of me figure out how to get to the right parking lot. More anxiety. After driving in circles for a few minutes, I parked in a lot designated for the clients’ parking needs, sent a text to my contact that I had arrived, and started to walk around. I usually have a good sense of direction when I have been somewhere before, but I was completely turned around. I resigned myself to never being hired by this group again, and all kinds of other disasters my anxiety ran through my head.
All of a sudden, a phone call comes through. It was my contact. The lump in my throat had become a whole damn lead weight, but by the way my contact sounded, she too had a similar expectation.
The fear of fury had been on both of our minds. She profusely apologized and mentioned that I was taking this so well and thanked me for being so relaxed about the miscommunication. I was relieved and surprised that she was taking this all so well. They had been coordinating multiple events across the city and neither of us had confirmed the address. We revealed to each other that we both suffer from POTS (aka “long covid”) and that it is difficult dealing with brain fog and don’t realize sometimes that you’ve made a mistake until it becomes critical.
The lucky part, for both of us, is that the event I was intended to cover was to start 45 minutes later than the one I had originally shown up for, and most of the guests had not yet started to fill in. I was able to complete the assignment and had a great time seeing the accomplishments of my clients and mingling with people I had met last year.
I’ve been dwelling on the fact that we both struggled with intense anxiety and the expectation of fury. Some people would have reacted to being given the wrong address/event with rage, frustration, etc, but I was only worried about potentially failing my client. Some people would’ve looked at a photographer showing up to the wrong venue, despite being given the wrong address, as a critical failure worthy of immediate dismissal. The relief I felt when told that the actual event didn’t start until later was palatable. I also have to thank the graciousness of my contact for abating my anxiety when we discussed our mutual fears and POTS diagnosis.
I guess the point I am trying to make is that we both had this expectation of fury because of the way society has grown to immediate anger and frustration with the mistakes of others. I admit that I have risen to the level of having police called on me for being so frustrated with genuinely life altering mistakes of others… But I know that there are people who exist who would treat innocent mistakes as if they were some kind of intentional slight.
I hope that in the future, more people will give others grace, and the benefit of the doubt. Both of us had a better evening because we weren’t drenched in anxiety and guilt.
Give others grace.