E + R = O

My family got to take a trip to Disney World when I was six years old, and I was so excited.

My favorite movie at the time was Jurassic Park, so I loved dinosaurs. And there was a big dinosaur exhibit at Animal Kingdom. So my only goal, my only priority going to Disney World was to go to Animal Kingdom.

After months of talking about it, we finally arrive at Disney World and I cannot be more excited to see the dinosaurs. It's me, my older brother Ben, my two younger siblings, plus my mom and dad. A big group trip. Our first real family vacation.

We get off the bus and walk under a big sign that says "Magic Kingdom."

I look around, slightly confused. I don't know where we are, but I know it's NOT Animal Kingdom.

I look at my dad and say, "Dad, where are the dinosaurs?"

He explains that the parks are big, we can't just go from one park to the next, and today we're going to spend time at Magic Kingdom. Later in the trip, we'll get to go to Animal Kingdom.

I look around and see people eating Mickey Mouse-shaped cotton candy, small children hugging Pluto as if it's their real dog, families making memories that will last a lifetime. I know that I am at the happiest place on Earth.

But instead of thinking, You know what? There are no dinosaurs, but it's still going to be a good day, I go full Disney villain and think to myself, I will burn this park to the ground.

In that moment, I decide: if I don't get dinosaurs, nobody else gets joy.

One of the first things we do is go to the legendary roller coaster, Splash Mountain. I drag my feet the whole way, throwing mini-tantrum after mini-tantrum, determined to make everyone else as miserable as I feel.

After waiting in line for what feels like hours, we take our seats in the giant log coaster cart, my dad and brother directly in front of me, and set off.

The ride begins peacefully, and for the first part we meander through a quaint forest as woodland creatures serenade us in song.

I roll my eyes, but then see my brother dancing and smiling like an idiot in front of me. For some reason, it makes me even more mad.

Eventually, we turn into a darker cavern, the music changes, and we begin to climb. Everyone around me is getting more and more excited until we crest the top, drop down Splash Mountain, and land with a giant splash.

Everyone's clapping and cheering except for me.

The ride finishes by taking us past an old steamboat as those stupid chipmunks, and everyone else in the cart, sing:

"Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay, my, oh, my, what a wonderful day."

Our log docks at the exit, and at this point, I've had it. All I wanted was a T-Rex. Instead, I've spent the last ten minutes trapped in this log prison, being serenaded by dollar-menu squirrels.

We get off the ride and I begin to storm off before my dad stops me.

"Wait! We gotta get the photo!"

Looking at the photo, my dad and brother are all smiles, hands in the air, having a Zip-a-dee-doo-dah day!

Then, we look at me.

Between the flash and my overall attitude, I'm having more of a "Zip-a-dee-do-not-look-at-me-or-I-will-strangle-one-of-those-chipmunks" day.

We continue on with our trip, and things just get worse.

My parents end up putting me in a harness and attaching a leash to it to keep me from running away, and I literally chew through it. So they implement a 20-step rule, and out of pure spite, I spend the rest of the afternoon making sure I stay exactly 20 steps away.

It's funny looking back on that trip. My family and I were never more than 20 steps away, but the experiences we were having were worlds apart.

They were having the vacation of a lifetime, and I spent way too much of it angry because every time something didn't go my way, it felt like it was happening to me.

Unfortunately, that mindset followed me home from Disney World, and it stayed with me for a long time. Things would be going great, and then something would happen. Someone would annoy me. Something wouldn't go my way. Someone would do something I didn't like. And that was it. Day ruined.

This continued until one day in the eighth grade. I was having one of those days. Things were going okay until a friend of mine made a joke about my teeth, and it ruined my entire day. I walk into my leadership class, and my teacher, Mrs. Lute, immediately clocks that something is off.

Looking at me, but addressing the entire class, she asks, "Why are you here today?"

We all look at her like, What do you mean, why are we here?

She continues, "Why did you come to school?"

A classmate says, "Because our parents made us."

"Oh, did they? They made you?"

I finally pipe up. "Yes. If I didn't come to school, my mom would kill me."

"Ah," she says. "So you made a choice."

Now it seems like she's talking directly to me. "Uh, no. I didn't have a choice."

"You chose school over likely death."

Without waiting for a rebuttal, she continues. "Maybe it didn't feel like one. Sometimes life only gives you one good option. Sometimes it doesn't give you any good options. But that doesn't mean you're out of choices."

She pauses and looks directly at me.

"We don't always get to choose what happens to us. The real choice then becomes who we're going to be when it happens."

I'm uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of that class. For most of my life, I've been letting other people's actions, words, and choices determine which version of me shows up every day.

I'll never forget that class or that lesson. Mrs. Lute and I have stayed in touch over the years, and recently she reminded me of a formula she taught alongside that conversation:

E + R = O

Event + Response = Outcome

E = Event: What happened? Six-year-old me didn't get to choose which Disney park we went to that morning. That was the event.

R = Response: What am I going to do with what happened? Underneath that response is an even more important question: Who am I going to be in this moment? Which version of me is going to show up?

O = Outcome: What happens as a result? The event and our response help create what happens next, not only for us, but often for the people around us.

Sometimes we get to choose the event. Often, we don't. Plans change. People disappoint us. Someone says something we don't like. Decisions get made that affect us without our input. We can't guarantee the outcome we want, but even when we aren't responsible for the event, we're still responsible for the response we add to it.

That's the part of the equation I wish I'd understood at six years old. I couldn't control which park we went to, but I could control what I did once we got there. Instead, I let one disappointing event determine my response, and my response affected my experience and everyone else's.

My family and I were standing in the same park, riding the same rides, and staying within 20 steps of each other. The event was identical, but the outcomes were worlds apart.

So the next time something doesn't go your way, separate the E from the R. Identify the event, the part that has already happened or is outside your control, then turn your attention to the part that's still yours.

Before you send the text, make the comment, walk out of the room, or give up on the day, consider what you're adding to the equation and what outcome that response is likely to create.

Then come back to the question Mrs. Lute asked me to consider:

Who am I going to be when this happens?

Fact

Our responses affect more than our own experience. Research on emotional contagion has found that emotions and behaviors can spread between people through social interaction.

• 
  

Action

Catch one bad moment before it becomes a bad day. Separate what happened from what you choose to do next.

Question

Where in your life are you letting someone else's choices determine which version of you shows up?

Quote

“For this is your business, to act well the character assigned you; to choose it is another's.” - Epictetus, The Enchiridion, trans. Elizabeth Carter

Source Note: E + R = O (Event + Response = Outcome) was taught to Jack Canfield by psychotherapist Dr. Robert Resnick and later popularized by Canfield in The Success Principles. Mrs. Lute originally introduced me to the concept through Canfield's Better Life Media presentation.