The Sad Man: Emotions and Stress
A Stress-Prone Woman Enjoying a Simple Afternoon
At this moment I am typing, nestled in a carol in the Las Vegas Paris Casino Race and Sports Book. All aglow like a seal pup basking in the sun. Why and how is this possible? I’m not actually betting on the races.
The answer is simple. I love horses. To my eyes and heart horses are magnificent and glorious and the way they move sparks my heart. I showed horse for forty years and spent way too much money, too much time, and sacrificed my only right knee and a few other bones. 
But through it all, I’ve loved horses as beautiful beings. Now it’s enough for me to observe, a fact for which my husband is so grateful that every morning when I say, “Morning Glory!” he says, “I sure am glad you’re not jumping horses anymore.”
For me, watching horses breathe brings joy. Here in the Paris Race and Sports Book I can settle into a carol fitted with two high definition screens showing races from around the country. Which means I can watch the horses in the paddock and in the races—four inches from my face. I can switch channels to catch my favorite parks and favorite parts of the races. I’ll bet on one race which gets me a drink pass and free coffee all afternoon.
Horses are everywhere. Just for me. For joy. Want to guess how long I enjoyed choosing horse pictures for this post? I had a great time. Joy, all of it. Which is why I do MysteryShrink at all.
What’s my point and where does the Sad Man come in?
A few years ago I was at a conference in Miami during the time when the World Series was on. The first chance I had to get a score was when I ducked into the bar to order some food to go. Excited to hear the score I checked the television over the bar with no luck, then asked the man sitting next to me if he knew how the game came out.
He said: “What game?”
I said: “The World Series game!” I gave him a big forgiving smile.
He said: “I do not have any interest in spectator sports. I’m not one of those people who sit on their behinds for hours watching a bunch of overpaid 
idiots play a children’s game.”
Ouch. Now, as I’d already given away that I was one of those idiots, I had no way to recover the conversation. I should mention that the Sad Man was a tad chubby, so clearly not a fitness nut. A fact made even clearer when he pushed his empty plate at the bartender with the remark, “You people (not sure who all was included here, but I think I was for sure) are the reason this country’s in trouble. The food portions you serve are too big.”
Note: I can’t avoid pointing out that the Sad Man had given the cook, the bartender, and likely the irritating blond on his left—responsibility for his behavior.
The Sad Man and Stress
The strongest feeling I had as I sat next to the Sad Man was distress for him. I’m not saying he’s responsible for my feelings, he’s not. What struck me was the idea that anyone would intentionally ignore or push away any element of life that could bring joy—and bring joy easily and cheaply. Baseball isn’t touring the Taj Mahal or sky-diving. But if you like it, it’s all right there for you. Just for you.
Everybody gets to the way they are through a natural process. What had happened in the Sad Man’s life that he couldn’t see joy? What happened to the curious little boy?
The same goes for flowers, beaches, babies, perfect toast, a breeze at the right moment, Family Feud if you like it, Mystery Theater, classical music, funny kids, a bright idea, books, blogs, stars, photos, and on and on and on. I could go on for pages and pages and I just might, but not here because what brings simple joy to one person may not please another at all. I dare say the majority of women my age or any age would find sitting in a turf club watching horses get saddled a joyful afternoon.
I was sad for the Sad Man. I wish I’d known something to say to bring a smile—I have all this training I wanted to put to good use. I couldn’t think of anything to say or any bar acrobatics that might get him to crack.
But I’ve never forgotten the Sad Man. Never stopped asking myself if psychology is such a great tool, why couldn’t I have thought of something to say that had a chance to make his day better?
