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Anger Management

April 11, 2024 //
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We become what we practice.

We become what we practice. Think about that for a minute in the context of anger, and how you express your anger, handle feeling angry, and how your anger affects others around you. We become what we practice. Practice “venting” your anger, releasing it into the environment, directing it toward other people… over time? You become more skillful at being angry. To be clear, you don’t become more skillful at managing your anger constructively, or harnessing the potential in your anger to communicate violated boundaries, or to seek change. You just become more skillful at (and more easily provoked into) escalating quickly and becoming a monster built of rage capable of doing great damage to those around you without anything much in the way of a positive outcome. I’m just saying, maybe give some thought to what you practice with regard to how you express and deal with your anger.

…I know I could do better, myself…

I’ve been noticing some more recent research being published about the relative value in “venting” one’s anger. Apparently, it’s not such a good practice. Gratifying for the angry person, perhaps, but not “helpful” for managing conflict, or reducing stress, or resolving whatever circumstance triggered the emotion in the first place – but reliably also incredibly damaging for the relationship with whatever hapless other primate is receiving the emotional blast of an angry outburst. Justified or not, delivering that angry blast of emotion to another human being is unpleasant, damaging, and not especially helpful for anyone involved. It’s unfortunate that we’re not taught sooner by knowledgeable practitioners how best to understand, endure, process, and express our emotions.

…Maybe don’t look to me for guidance on this one; I’m still learning…

I sip my coffee thinking about anger. I’ve gotten a lot better at managing my anger over recent years, but it still “gets me” now and then – most commonly when I’m driving. Thinking about that in the abstract, that seems pretty fucking dangerous. I keep working at it, because 1. we become what we practice, 2. disgorging explosively angry energy isn’t useful for anything in that situation 3. it wrecks my experience in the moment, and 4. it’s seriously unlikely that anything any other driver does or doesn’t do is at all personal or “about me” in the first place. This morning, I commuted calmly into the office, with the exception of one brief moment of frustration with a driver ahead of me going less than the posted speed limit. My angry reaction caught me a bit by surprise, but I recognized the inappropriate escalation of temper in the moment, and managed to take a breathe, and dial that shit back. Way back. I was going to get to my destination regardless, and this rather unimportant – and very brief – impediment to my forward momentum wasn’t going to change my arrival time in any notable way (even if it did, there’s no time pressure on my start time each day). I took a breath. Took my foot off the gas. Took another breath. Exhaled slowly and got a fucking grip on myself. I was being, frankly, ridiculous. So… I let that shit go.

Managing anger isn’t easy. It’s worthwhile, though. It does take practice. My results do vary. Still… incremental change over time is a thing. We really do become what we practice. When we practice calm, we become calmer. When we practice kindness, we become kinder people. When we practice listening attentively, we become better listeners.

…When we practice expressing our anger aggressively, we become angrier…

I’ve got choices to make. Practices to practice. Every time I feel my anger rise up, I’ve got another opportunity to practice managing my anger with wisdom, consideration, compassion, and understanding, and without explosively escalating it. Sure, my results are going to vary… but each time I practice being the person I most want to be, I get a little closer to that goal. Like anything else, when I fall short of my expectations of my best self, I can begin again. There will definitely be another opportunity to do better.

I’m grateful that I’m no longer the seething ball of taking-everything-personally rage that I was in my 20s. That rage didn’t get me anywhere with the underlying traumas that caused it, it just did more damage. I’m grateful that I’m no longer the pensive, frustrated, still-seething-in-the-background resentfully angry mess that I was in my 30s and 40s. There was an impotence and fugue of futility to that which undermined my ability to feel any joy in life at all ruining some otherwise pretty good years. By the time I entered my 50s, I at least recognized I needed to do something quite entirely different… so I began again. It’s been a strange journey of growth, change, and transformation. Worthy. The journey is, after all, the destination.

I sip my coffee, and reflect on the past decade of growth and change. It seems such a short time…

…and already, still, time to begin again. Again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, anhedonia, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Healthy Living, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5

Walking the Talk

April 9, 2024 //
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It’s just now daybreak. I’ve got my boots on, and I’m at the trailhead for this morning’s walk. I try to put a couple miles on these boots every day. It’s not everything I need to do to get (or stay) fit, but it’s more than nothing.

I’m thinking about success and failure and the effort involved either way. I’m thinking about the difference between “saying” and “doing” – it’s an important difference. It’s pretty easy to find some measure of success and then, slowly, over time, begin to fail oneself ever so quietly while still rather loudly proclaiming the value of prior successes. It’s very human. The proof is in the results, though. Sometimes it’s necessary to begin again, because I have somehow stopped doing a verb. It’s not on my mind for any particular reason, aside from gratitude that I’ve kept at it with the walking and I’m still on my feet and able to.

Have you given up on some effective practice, maybe without really noticing, or in spite of continuing to talk about how well it works for you? Do you miss it? Will you begin again?

I breathe in the mild Spring morning air. It’s scented with flowers. The trees are in bloom all around. Storm clouds are bunched up overhead, looking a bit like a quilted comforter that has been improperly dried, and left lumpy. The idea of “lumpy clouds” makes me giggle out loud.

I’m in less pain than yesterday and in a much nicer mood so far this morning. I’ve got a bit of a headache and it’s the one I most closely associate with my neck pain, but my arthritis isn’t so bad this morning,  and the bone graft site on my left hip isn’t aching ferociously the way it was yesterday. I am so grateful just to hurt less this morning. The walk can become real drudgery when I am in a lot of pain. I generally still do the walk, but it’s certainly less pleasant when my pain is unmanaged.

…soon…

The sky is light enough to walk the trail now. It’s a lovely mild morning for it. I stretch and yawn, grateful for the moment, the opportunity, and the ability. I grab my cane from the passenger seat of the car and begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being

The Quiet and The Rain

April 5, 2024 //
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The balcony door is flung wide to let the sounds of the sea and the wind and the gulls fill the room. The smell of a doused bonfire on the beach sneaks in with them. A drenching misty rain began to fall shortly after sunrise; I had watched the clouds roll in bringing the rain along with them, as I sipped my coffee. I’m still sitting around sipping coffee, without a care, after “doing the needful” regarding payday details (because truly the clock never stops ticking, and some shit just needs to be done). The sky is a peculiar milky gray that obscures details that are relatively nearby, and which I can usually see quite clearly – it’s just that drenching mist of a rain adding a gray wash over everything, like a careless watercolorist.

Looking from the balcony toward Schooner Creek, through the misty rain.

I crashed ridiculously early last night, after a walk on the beach in the late afternoon, and a bite of dinner. I think it was barely 7:00 pm. I expected I’d probably end up wakeful and restless during the night, but I slept right through, waking only briefly to pee during the night, and the morning caught me by surprise; it was past daybreak when I finally woke. My sleep tracker suggests I slept quite deeply more than half the hours I slept, which is rare for me these days. I needed that rest.

A picture before bed time.

The water along the shoreline is quite clear this morning, and from my third floor hotel room I can see into the water, to the sandy bottom, and even see an occasional small crab moving along, sideways, no doubt hoping to avoid an eager gull or other shorebird looking for a tasty snack. The tide turned before I woke, and I enjoy watching the sea rise, wave after wave, gulls enjoying the air currents, or picking at bits of things in the shallow water. A bit further from shore, the clear water appears as a blue-green-gray, and I can’t see into it deeply at all; it’s deeper there. There is a channel there that never quite empties, even at the lowest tide, and occasionally shallow draft fishing boats travel this channel, fishing or moving to the next good fishing spot, rarely staying long. It’s an odd little spot, this Siletz Bay. The view changes so much with every change of the tide. I love this spot. It’s interesting seeing some of the massive logs carried down the river to the sea, they move so far on relatively little water (quite a lot of this bay is very shallow). The driftwood log upon which I sat for some time yesterday evening may not even be there by the end of the day, today.

Bay view this morning, shortly before the rain arrived.

The room is chilly, now, from leaving the door open to the balcony all damned morning (since I woke). I put on a sweater rather than shut out the sea breeze, and stop writing long enough to wrap my hands around a hot cup of coffee while I watch a short video my Traveling Partner shared with me. He misses me already, I know. It’s tempting to immediately return home to comfort him and hang out together… but I know I actually really need (and benefit from) this short break from “all the peopling” and busy-ness of life. Self-care only works when we do the things we need to do to care for ourselves. I breathe in the cold sea air, and sign contentedly. The rain is still falling, but the clouds are moving away, and it seems likely I’ll be comfortably walking along the beach shortly, enjoying the advantage of the low tide to walk along further than I might at high tide. My coffee has grown as cold as my hands.

…I would enjoy a better cup of coffee than what the hotel provides. Perhaps it is time to begin again…?

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being

Waiting Time

April 4, 2024 //
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I’m waiting. It’s quite early, before daybreak. I’m parked at a local trail near home. I’m waiting for enough daylight to walk. I’m waiting for the grocery store to open. I’m waiting for my Traveling Partner to wake and start his day. I’m waiting to begin my long weekend and short trip to the coast. It’s not a bad time for waiting. The world seems quiet and peaceful, and although that’s an illusion (the “peaceful” bit is very local), it’s a pleasant moment with which to begin the day.

My head aches ferociously. My neck, too, aches horribly. It’s more likely than not a byproduct of yesterday’s physical therapy, which isn’t unusual but is usually less intense. Progress? Hell, I don’t know.

Subjectively, I feel as if my range of motion is improving. The symptoms of occipital neuralgia seem reduced in frequency and intensity. Those are promising changes, but g’damn the pain persists, it’s just located differently. lol Learning to deal with pain emotionally has been as important as anything I’ve done to attempt to reduce it. I fully expect pain to continue to be a thing that is part of my day-to-day experience, and it’s no good letting it call the shots (anytime I have a choice to do otherwise). My results vary.

The ringing in my ears is… loud. I’m looking forward to being by the ocean. The sound of ocean waves and seaside breezes is one of the very few things that drowns out my tinnitus almost entirely. It’s a delightful break from the maddening din that no one else hears. For a couple days it’ll be rather as if there’s no tinnitus at all. This experience is one of the reasons I go to the coast when I need some time to myself, the chance to escape the noise of my tinnitus for a short time. Another is the feeling that being oceanside connects me more closely to my Granny and my recently departed dear friend,  both of whom felt a strong connection to the sea.

It won’t be long now until mountain and forest places are warm enough for camping and hiking, too. I enjoy the forest most of all,  myself, and that’s a lifelong love. I enjoy the seaside places. I enjoy the broad plains and vast expanses of high desert skies. I love the forest. My reluctance to camp in early Spring is to do with physical comfort, only. My arthritis makes sleeping on the ground in chilly weather uncomfortable, and the more frequent Spring rains make hiking muddy and more treacherous, so I just don’t. Choices.

…I sit quietly for some moments, feeling grateful to have the luxury and privilege of choices…

Daybreak comes. The morning sky stays pretty dark, and streaks of blue hint at daylight to come, through stormy clouds. It’s not raining though, and it looks like a good morning for a walk. I remind myself to check my paint box for blues and grays and colors I might use for stormy skies…

Soon there will be enough light to walk the trail. I grab my boots to make the change from sneakers, and get ready to head down the trail. It’s already time to begin again.

Walking my own path, I start where I am.
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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being

Quiet Time

March 30, 2024 //
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Daybreak is just a faint pale smudge along the horizon. The moon hangs low on the western sky as it slowly sets. There’s very little traffic,  it’s a Saturday morning and I am parked at a trailhead waiting for sufficient daylight to walk a favorite trail, again. Aside from the interruption by an occasional passing car,  my tinnitus is the loudest thing I hear. It’s quiet this morning, and peaceful.

…Another car pulls into the parking lot, pulls up to the closed gate, then slowly drives to one of the few parking spaces outside the gate and parks. They are waiting, too. As the days grow longer it becomes more likely to see another person here, even at this early hour.

I sit with my thoughts, enjoying the quiet and waiting. I think about my garden plans for the weekend. The new roses have arrived. I hope to get them planted. Three of these honor my recently deceased dear friend, and love and friendship generally. I think she would have enjoyed my selections. I hope my planned placement is as pleasing as I think it will be.

The sky continues to lighten slowly. Looks like blue skies today. The local forecast is for warm Spring weather. A promising beginning. I think ahead to the day and weekend. Yesterday I was too tired to be much help to my Traveling Partner,  but today I plan to be available to assist in some work stuff, if he needs me.

My trip to the coast is just days away, now. I’m eager to enjoy the deeper more prolonged quiet time. No agenda,  though I may bring my paints along. I  haven’t yet decided the most desirable means of “refilling my fuel tank”, this time. Maybe I will simply read and nap and walk on the beach?

A new day dawning, another opportunity to be the person I most want to be.

The park gate clangs open. It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being
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