Why Are My Neighbors Screaming at Me?

Editor’s Note: Is anything ailing, torturing, or nagging at you? Are you beset by existential worries? Every Tuesday, James Parker tackles readers’ questions. Tell him about your lifelong or in-the-moment problems at dearjames@theatlantic.com.

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Dear James,

I’m typically quiet and mind my own business. But in recent weeks, I’ve been having conflicts with people over minor things. Just today, I got yelled at twice. I’m not sure if it’s me or them or a phase of the moon.

Early this morning, I was driving in my neighborhood. Visibility was poor because of the long shadows of winter morning. A man dressed in black crossed the street, and I didn’t see him at first. I did stop on time, but I felt an apology was in order, so I lowered my window and said I was sorry. He came over to the car, already screaming at me, and leaned in to continue screaming in my face.

Then this afternoon, I took my dog to our neighborhood park. I often allow the dog some off-leash time, as many of my neighbors do. This time, my dog took off and ran into the yard of a house bordering the park. The house’s owner, who was outside, ran at the dog, yelling, using some choice words. I put the dog on leash, apologized, and quickly left.

In both these instances, I was in the wrong. But I was surprised at the intensity of the reactions. Am I an asshole? Or is everyone about to blow a fuse? Or are these random occurrences, and I’m reading too much into them?

Dear Reader,

Excellent atmosphere in this letter. “The long shadows of winter morning”—right on. And the whole sense of transgression in the second episode, of instability and triggered boundaries: love it.

You definitely don’t sound like an asshole. Assholes cannot write descriptive prose. (That may not actually be true. Good essay topic, though. “Assholes Cannot Write Descriptive Prose: Discuss.”) Also—and less controversially—an asshole has no concept of being in the wrong. Or he does, but he applies it only to the other guy. You, in contrast, are rather haunted by these incidents, and you worry about your role in them.

The day you describe, with its yellings and its psychic abrasions, is the sort of day that can make an occultist out of you. You start thinking about astrology, tarot, vibes, telepathy, the underworld. I do anyway. Is some planet somewhere pulling in the wrong direction, like a truculent mule? Is the mass mind devolving? Am I unwittingly putting out some kind of freaky energy, to elicit this response?

I relate deeply, for what it’s worth, to the dilemma of your rogue dog. My dog, Sonny, is a born crosser of lines and violator of spaces, and we have both been scolded, shamed, and exiled many times. On balance, I think it’s been good for me. (For him too, possibly, but Sonny—being a dog—keeps his counsel.)

I’ve thought a lot about your question: Are these random occurrences? And my considered answer is: It doesn’t matter. Maybe you were a little off, tired, out of sorts. You drove distractedly for a second; your dog moved too fast for you. So what? No harm was done, and in both cases you apologized. Screw that shouty guy in the street, and screw that irritable homeowner and enemy of dogs. Leave them to their little rages and fist-shakings. Leave them to their blood pressure. Do not invest them with the mysterious power of augury.

Raising a glass to rebel canines everywhere,

James

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