An Antidote for Anger
Americans are too angry. We shout at each other on talk radio, from our cars, at political rallies, on cable news, on reality TV – and, unfortunately, sometimes at home. Perhaps it is our stressful lives, filled with the demands of job, family, and community. Perhaps it is the seeming tsunami of world tragedies, random accidents and crimes we hear about each day. Perhaps it is the recognition of lost opportunities since so much that seems to mean so little consumes our lives. Perhaps it is the difficulty of finding and keeping relationships that could help us weather the storms that pelt us as the price of living. Or maybe it is just that each day seems, at its end, to find us no closer to the peace of mind we had for that brief instant when our slumbering eyes opened with the dawn.
After all, what does each day bring? A hot shower at the start, briefer than we wish because we are in a hurry; a quick hug to those we love before leaving, with the perfunctory “have a nice day” that seems so routine; what we call “breakfast” - maybe a latte grabbed after standing in line and gulped during the morning commute, during which we don't even notice the scenery we pass every day; flipping songs on the car radio or iPod to find a song worth listening to; meetings with colleagues – good people whose skills we appreciate (though we seldom tell them so) – who we know not quite as well as we’d like, but who has the time?; lunch grabbed at the local mini-mall (or our desk) as we prepare for the next meeting; texts and emails to return from our boss, colleagues, customers, friends, kids, spouse or partner; phone calls for things that seem so small we wonder why we have to deal with them; remembering to pick up the laundry and take out for dinner, milk at the store (whose friendly clerk's name we’ve forgotten); a quick workout at the fitness center (because it’s good for us).
Is it any wonder that we often seem short, sharp, easy to provoke. Is this the life we've worked so hard to fashion?
Now imagine. What if you knew it was the last shower you would ever take, the last hug you would give and get, the last time you would tell those you loved to “have a nice day”? What if you knew the Starbucks you just grabbed was the last one that would warm your palette, if you actually noticed that small roadside clump of tulips and absorbed what an amazing natural creation they are? What if the radio or iPod's song was the last time you would ever hear its notes and words pass over you? What if your meeting was the last one you would have – and that you would never have another chance to tell each person what their work and friendship mean to you? What if your chain-store sandwich was your last meal, if all those texts, emails and cell phone calls were the last time you would see the funny short-hand spellings and emojis or hear the voices of those whose words and sounds you had so often tuned out because you were too busy? What if your workout was your last one, the last time you would feel your heart pumping and know how truly alive you still are?
Living is choosing. As we face life’s pressures and pains, we can decide to savor something in each of those moments. We can stop, even briefly, and relish what is happening, without judgment and without rushing to the next activity on the "to-do" list. We can suspend the emotional urge for that rash word or angry expression, knowing that it will do nothing really helpful for us and that we'll probably regret what it does to others. We can be thankful that we are here, able to do so many things others lack the health, talent, or resources to do. We can be gracious to others, tell them how much they add to our lives, and be kind to ourselves.
Our lives are lived in each of our moments and what we do with them. Life is not just putting up with what we have to do as the inevitable price we pay for a vacation - where we can finally “be ourselves.” If we can do this, we may find each day creates less anger and more joy. If we can do this, we may find ourselves living the full life that our anger denies us.
Photo Credit: Carol Donsky Newell
