Harnessing Emotional Intelligence in Daily Life

I travel for work. It’s become routine—early flights, late arrivals, hotel keys that never quite work on the first try. On this particular morning, I was in New Mexico, heading to the airport to fly home after a long week away. The sky was still dark. The desert chill lingered, and I hadn’t had my coffee yet.

I was driving a rental car. I didn’t know the airport well, so I was focused—head on a swivel, following signs, trying to return the car without a hitch. All I wanted was to get to my gate with time to spare.

Then I hit a line.

Cars were backed up, inching forward toward the rental return. I joined the queue, not thrilled, but resigned. This happens. Airports are strange places—halfway houses between lives, full of weary people trying to get somewhere else. I took a deep breath and prepared to wait.

But we weren’t moving. Minutes passed. The line didn’t budge. My calm began to fray. I checked the time. If this didn’t resolve soon, I might miss my flight. A few cars ahead of me peeled off, trying to find another way. That’s when I saw it—a single car, blocking the entrance. Just sitting there.

I was three cars back and couldn’t see what the holdup was. The road behind me filled. I was trapped. To get out, I’d have to drive the wrong way down a one-way road. I thought, not an option.

I sat there, stewing. I have traveled a lot and I was used to things like this, and probably not the last. But I was frustrated. Then I noticed flashes behind me—headlights blinking. I ignored them. Couldn’t be for me. Then: a short, beep-beep.

Now I was angry.

Why was the driver behind me honking? I couldn’t go anywhere. I was boxed in, like everyone else. More flashing. More honking. I snapped. I threw the car into park, got out, and walked back with my hands in the air.

“What do you want from me?” I shouted. “I’m stuck.”

The man stepped out of his car. “Go down that road,” he said, pointing toward the one-way exit. “It loops back around.”

“Are you crazy?” I barked. “I’m not risking that. I’m not getting a ticket—or worse—just because you’re in a hurry.”

His voice rose too. “I’m going to miss my flight!”

“I have a flight to catch too” I yelled. 

“Just go down that road!” he said again.

That was it. The proverbial switch inside me flipped. I stepped toward him, angry. I wasn’t thinking clearly anymore. This wasn’t like me—I’m not someone who escalates situations l ike this. But there I was, shouting in a half-empty rental lot at dawn, ready to throw hands over a traffic jam.

Then something unexpected happened.

As I walked towards him his eyes changed. His face softened. His tone shifted. It was like watching a nature documentary where a shark calms at the touch of a handler’s hand. His voice slowed, dropping an octave.

He said, “Look, I can see how what I did upset you. That wasn’t my intention.”

The air changed. My anger dissipated almost instantly.

In that moment, I realized what had happened: his emotional intelligence outpaced mine. He recognized what I hadn’t—that we were on the edge of something unnecessary. He pulled us both back from the brink.

So what did he do:

• He stayed aware. He read the moment, saw it escalating, and decided to defuse it.
  
• He changed first. He removed ego from the situation. He adjusted his tone, slowed his speech, and softened his language.
  
• He showed empathy. He acknowledged how I felt without defensiveness. His first words weren’t an argument—they were an invitation.
  
• He took responsibility. “I can see how I triggered you.” That’s what he said. That small gesture opened a huge door.
  
• He used body language. He raised a hand—not in aggression, but as a sign of peace.
  
• He offered a solution. He told me he knew this airport. That the road ahead curved back around. That if I pulled forward just a few feet, he could show me.
  

I trusted him. I moved. He was right. A short distance later, the road curved back into the return area. We parked next to each other. We apologized. We shook hands.

We even smiled.

I was embarrassed by my earlier reaction. But I also learned something: emotional intelligence isn’t just a vague buzzword. It’s a real, living skill. One that can shape a moment, de-escalate a confrontation, and leave everyone better than before.

Sometimes the impact of emotional intelligence takes years to see. Other times, it happens instantly. You feel it. You live it. You walk away changed.

I still think about that morning. How close it came to going another way. How many similar situations haven’t ended with handshakes, but with shouting matches, fists, or worse.

If you’d asked me fifteen minutes before that encounter if I had high emotional intelligence, I would have said yes. And I still believe I do. But like all things worth mastering, it’s a journey, not a badge. There’s always more to learn. Always room to grow.

That morning reminded me of that—and for that, I’m grateful.