Anger has been on my mind lately. I see firsthand its corrosive effects--on relationships, on my thinking, on myself.
I rage sometimes; I get so angry and defensive that I say things I don't mean and sometimes things I do mean but that shouldn't be said. I lash out. I yell. I simmer. I vent. I rage.
Around me, others lash out too. Last Friday, I left my apartment to go for an early run, only to find three of Seattle's finest investigating a domestic disturbance right next door. A few minutes earlier, I'd heard thumps and noises and shouting in Mandarin Chinese. By the time I returned, the attacker had been taken to jail, the victim treated by paramedics. There's dementia in the mix, manifested in rage.
I know that my anger comes from someplace deep, that it was planted when I was too young to formulate words, and nurtured in adolescence by a tyrannical, self-loathing parent, but I'm an adult now, and either this thing will define me forever, or I will learn to listen to it, let it teach me, help me become less and more.
For guidance, I go to this fine essay: 10 Life-changing Facts About Anger.
I want to operate with love and peace. So I guess first, I have to listen to the rage.
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