That day in September was hot. After the speed-walk from the front of the park through the maze of barriers littered throughout Epcot we were covered in sweat. We were racing to the standby line where we hoped to hear news of people no-showing for their reservations.

Reservations not for a ride, mind you, but for a restaurant. Space 220, a restaurant that simulates eating in a space station 220 miles above the Earth’s surface, had just opened. We had missed making a reservation when the restaurant opened days earlier (the reservation window opened unannounced at 4:40 AM. I was online at 4:45 AM.) Alas, my experience with this restaurant was irksome and we hadn’t even stepped through the threshold yet.

After getting into line, we baked for what felt like forever. We were measuring our progress relative to the number of people between us and a single stationary umbrella positioned at the front of the line. After 90 minutes we made it to the umbrella…and the turn in the line. There was more shade-less misery to go…60 minutes more.

It was then that my ire turned into anger. The shift in my expectations from “we’ve made it, it was all worth it” to “another hour to go to maybe still be turned away” took my sour mood and turned it into a nose dive. Our parasols were struggling to keep the heat off our heads. Me getting more heated didn’t help.

I’m not one to outwardly express my anger. Since I was still in line, and listening to the droning on of a below-average audio book I decided (begrudgingly) to take the extra time in the sun and look inward. I began to look at my anger not as a state of myself, but as something separate from myself, like the little red guy in Inside Out.

I picked it up in my hands. I interrogated it. Why am I angry? What are the consequences of me being angry right now? What do I get out of this? Who has to live with the consequences of me being angry?

The answers to most of those questions were pretty obvious. There was no point to being angry. I had decided to be in the line and knew when I committed that the restaurant extended no such commitment to me, just the possibility of an opening. The only person I could be mad at was myself.

Of course I didn’t get anything out of being mad. It didn’t make the line faster. It didn’t make me feel better. And, it didn’t make me better company to Mackenzie, an eternally positive presence next to me in line and excited to get inside and experience the restaurant and its newness.

So I changed my mind.

When’s the last time you changed your mind? Tell me about it below!

✌️& 💜. Thanks for reading.

Written while watching 📽️ Rush Hour 2 (2001).