Funny how the simpler your life gets, the more clearly you can see the things you do. You used to do them without thinking. Now, you do them and think, “What the hell am I doing that for?”
Point in case: being angry.
Today, I woke up, and the day was still and overcast. Nothing stimulating written in my diary. Got busy with a few jobs I needed to attend to. Over time, I became frustrated with those few things I was doing. Then, while I was being annoyed at the grey day, and the small stuff, I remembered a few big picture things I’m in the habit of worrying about. Then I started thinking about crappy things that’ve happened in the past, things I hope don’t happen again. But might. But probably won’t. But they might.
So, with my dashboard, windscreen, sunroof and rear view mirror totally obscured by things not even really here, and which I can’t do anything about, I proceeded to get angry.
I flicked stuff around my desk. I sighed. I wondered why nobody else was closing the door, letting the dog in or out, worrying about how much milk is left, what we’re having for lunch or why nobody is buying our car.
It escalated, and before I knew it, I was well and truly angry.
Ben asked me stuff and I grunted without expression. I didn’t smile. I stopped myself from being animated and responsive. I chose not to see any joy in what I was doing. We drove to the shops and I decided to sulk and act as if I was consumed with thoughts of big, important, looming emergencies *obviously* nobody else was concerned about. God, you people. Can’t you see how much trouble we’ll be in if the bad things happen? Why don’t you choose to feel it, like me? Why don’t you act powerless and small and helpless too?
Can’t you see I’ve chosen to be angry?
Then, I saw it. So clearly, it was like blue sky fell down from the rainclouds and smacked me in the snout.
I’ve chosen to be angry.
I. Chose. This.
I could’ve chosen not to worry, be frustrated, act small and powerless. Because that’s what it is – an act. I’m not small and powerless. I’m not really afraid. Not of the future. Not of having no money. No, not of anything.
I’m not scared. I’m just tired.
When you’re weary, when you’re exhausted and worn out from being enthusiastic and prayerful and mindful and positive and the holder of dreams and creator of your destiny, you get a little testy.
I don’t need saving. I just need more sleep. And possibly a multi-vitamin.
I was angry, and it was my choice. I wanted someone else to carry the burden of seeing things as they really are and everything I want them to be both at the same time, so I tried to get someone to switch places with me by convincing them I can’t handle that kind of pressure.
Of course I can’t handle it. My God, what am I, Eckhart-fricking-Winfrey?
Don’t drive drunk, tired or angry, little spiritual sojourner. When all the glass in your astral-minivan is clouded by driving rain, dirty fingerprints, boring scenery or the faces of leering doubters, pull over, get out and go lie under a tree for a while. Have a break. Stretch your legs. Don’t get mad – get an extra degree of detachment. And a piece of fruit, while you’re at it. This is not a crisis, extistential or otherwise … it’s just a bad day.
And a bad day, is not a bad life.
Anger is the resort of the tired, not the under-resourced. Angry people think they are running out of time to prove what they need to prove. Those who don’t need to prove anything don’t get angry. They get a great nights sleep.
And so does everyone else.
Anger is a choice. Unchoose it.
Love, Jo xxxby