The Parking Spot That Cost Me Everything

We love being right. There is a certain rush of dopamine that hits the brain when we dig our heels in, cross our arms, and refuse to budge because we know our logic is sound.

But I am here to tell you that being "right" is often the most expensive thing you will ever buy.

In 2018, I purchased a moment of self-righteousness. The price tag? The final moments of my mother's life.

This is a story about the "quills" of pride and the one thing that could have saved me from a lifetime of regret: Discipline.

The Hill I Chose to Die On

My brother Lane is a good man. He is the kind of guy whose handshake is an iron-clad oath . But in 2018, as our mother Barbara lay dying in a nursing home in Texas, Lane and I found ourselves in a war over the most trivial thing imaginable: a parking spot.

I had driven down from Memphis to sit with Mom. There was a little cove at the back of the nursing home—not a real parking spot, but shaded and out of the way. So, I parked my 4Runner there .

It didn't bother anyone. Except Lane.

Every morning, like clockwork, he’d walk in and say, "Hey, you need to go move your truck." And every morning, I’d reply, "Lane, it's not bothering anybody." .

I could have moved the truck. It would have taken thirty seconds. It would have cost me nothing. But I didn't see it that way. I saw it as a battle of wills. I chose the "path of most resistance" because I felt justified. I was "right," and I was going to prove it.

The Drive of Regret

As Mom’s condition worsened, the tension in the room thickened. One afternoon, I was sitting by her bed, gently rocking her head to soothe her. Lane walked in, saw me, and snapped, "Hey, you shouldn't be putting your hand under her neck like that." .

That was the match in the powder keg.

I exploded. "Lane, what does it matter?! All you seem to care about is where I park my truck and what I do."

He replied, "Well, I just wish you'd move your truck."

I stood up. "Fine. I'll go move my truck." .

And I did move it. I put it in drive and didn't stop until I was back in Memphis. I left my dying mother’s bedside because my ego was too big to fit in the room.

Two hours after I arrived home, Lane called. Mom was gone .

I wasn't there. I missed the end of the life of the person who meant the world to me, all because I lacked the discipline to shut my mouth and move a car.

Discipline is Not Punishment

When we hear the word "discipline," we usually think of punishment or strict regimes. But in the context of being a Balloon Protector, discipline is restraint.

It is the ability to hold back when every fiber of your being wants to retaliate. It is the discipline to choose silence over a sharp comeback.

I was running on emotion. I let my irritation drive the car.

If I had practiced just a fraction of the Positive Compartmentalization (PC) I talk about now, I would have been able to:

1. Shelve the Emotion: Put my annoyance with Lane in a mental box to deal with later.

2. Focus on the Balloon: Realize that my mother's comfort was the only "balloon" that mattered in that moment.

3. Act with Discipline: Move the truck, not because he was right, but because peace was more important than pride.

The Cost of Winning

I "won" the argument. I kept my truck where I wanted it until the very second I left. But looking back, I was the biggest loser in that scenario.

We think that by clapping back, digging in, or having the last word, we are showing strength. We aren't. We are showing weakness. We are showing that we are slaves to our impulses.

Real strength is looking at a situation, realizing it’s a trap for your ego, and stepping around it.

Don't wait for a tragedy to teach you this. The next time you feel that heat rising in your chest—at a staff meeting, at the dinner table, or in a parking lot—ask yourself: "Is being right worth what this is about to cost me?"