On Angrrr

I was incandescent with fury the other day. A friend called to break a long-standing commitment with me, and as a consequence of her actions I'll be out of pocket by several hundred Euros that I don't have because I am essentially a poor person. Don't get me wrong - I am rich in many ways; money just ain't one of them.

Anger is a fascinating exercise. These days, I can actually listen to what my anger tells me I want. It requires me to get to a place of calm and quiet the noises in my head so I can listen to what I need to do to take care of myself instead of the other person. The other day it started with a slow burn, the getting-hot-under-the-collar bit when calm gave way to pique and swiftly morphed into indignation after my friend announced that her pillock of a husband insisted on tagging along to a week-long class she and I are taking in Ireland this June. This man likes to keep his wife on a very tight rein. Feminist snark that I am, I'm very allergic to neanderthals who behave as if they own their wives. Him coming means I lose my roommate and will then have to spend more on a single room which I can't afford. My carefully drawn budget was in tatters and all patience and compassion went pffft. I was furious at him for derailing our plans, and at her for failing to stand up to him and for not having the backbone to honor her commitment. Isn't anger amazing? In a heartbeat it transforms my reasonably sane and cheerful everyday self into a self-righteous, judgmental, napalm-breathing battleaxe. I can be pretty scary when I'm angry. How easy it is to wimp into coward mode and find fault with others rather than to face what's really going on inside.

If I catch myself early enough and if the irritant is minor, taking deep breaths often helps. When I remember to, I pray the Serenity Prayer while being mindful of my breathing, and that's even better. But sometimes that slow burn comes to a rolling boil before I realize what's hit me, and when it happens, people who know me wisely clear out of my way. Fast. Nowhere is it more evident that I am a double Leo with Aries rising than when I'm angry. I burn; sparks fly. I swear like a linguistically-gifted Captain Haddock, only I spew epithets far ruder than "Blistering barnacles." Let me not name them here.

I'm not a hurler or a breaker. I like things too much to throw them at people, and I hate it when I miss. And what would be the point of pounding a pillow when it's much more satisfying to pound the object of my anger? Except that I don't; not anymore. My brothers who are now in their 40s have a pet name for me. They call me Sidekick, a reference to our childhood in Bacolod when I had the temper of Yosemite Sam and the unerring aim of Bruce Lee whose films I adored as a child. When provoked, I'd aim for their nether parts. My ruthless right foot rarely missed its mark, hence the justly-deserved Sidekick honorific.


Being angry is healthy. Staying resentful is toxic. Years ago, when I was more volatile and less wise, anger was a more frequent visitor. It turned me into a good bread baker. Into the dough would metaphorically go the object of my ire, then I'd knead my angst away. By the time golden loaves emerged from the oven my anger had usually dissolved, and fragrant bread was my reward. It taught me that anger didn't have to be destructive, it could be made positive and creative. Now that I have less time for bread-baking, I've discovered other constructive ways of expressing my anger. Dancing, writing, weeding or pruning in the garden, honing my knife skills in the kitchen are all good circuit breakers. Murderous thoughts still race through my head even as I engage in these calming measures. Thoughts that I am powerless to stop and deeply grateful that I don't need to act upon. So when fury came calling the other day, here's what I did. I remembered to breathe, and I used a Jin Shin Jyutsu self-help technique that involves nothing more complex than gently holding all my fingers one by one. I poured myself a restorative (read: very large) malt whisky, neat, and danced like a dervish to "Happiness" by A. Skillz & Krafty Kuts with the volume cranked waaay up. I sharpened my kitchen knives and cooked a pork belly-chili pepper stir fry. By bedtime I found myself oddly tranquil again. I put it all in God's hands and slept like a baby.

Only when I consciously surrender to the arc of my anger - owning it, expressing it, and letting it go - can I find release from its tenacious grip and accept the gifts of a cleansing fire. Once the ashes have cooled, peace and sanity are reborn. I am restored to the flow.

The Serenity Prayer

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.


~ attributed to the theologian Reinhold Niebuhr

Painting by Youngheui Lee Lim

Gratitude Walks.

Facebook reconnected me with an old school friend last year. We didn't hang out much when we were at university. She was busy raising a young family, writing poetry and getting cum laude grades. I was busy raising hell, mostly. I always admired her but felt we lived in different worlds and I was too shy to strike up a conversation with her for fear of sounding stupid. Luisa is now a mother of 4, an associate professor of creative writing and other wondrous subjects at an American university, and continues to write the astonishingly beautiful poetry that is winning her awards at about the same rate I'm collecting love handles and extra chins. My old shyness with her is gone, and we've both discovered to our great delight that we walk large tracts of common ground together.

One day last November we were ruminating by e-mail on the things that draw us to wonder. I decided to tell her about my gratitude bowl. With a few minor alterations to reflect some changes in my life since then, this is what I wrote:

I have an old Igorot wooden bowl with a scalloped rim that holds a ragtag assortment of stones found on beach walks, some of Noodle's bright marbles, a few large, mysterious seeds from Cartagena, Colombia, two sanded glass eggs from a flea market, a small knob of polished turquoise, two tiny fossils from the Moroccan dessert, et cetera. I take everything out of the bowl, and try to put each item back one by one. For every stone/thing that makes it back into the bowl, I have to find something in my life today that I am grateful for. So for example: "Today I am grateful for my health, for the fact it's Saturday and I had a lie-in, for this beautiful Aran sweater that keeps me warm as we try to save on heating oil, for the damp stain on the ceiling because it means I have a roof over my head, for Mia snoring on her pillow, for Skunk and the laughter I share with him, for my dishwasher, for Luisa's poems and the places they take me to, for the back rub Skunk gave me last night that allowed me to sleep deeply, for the cold winter we had because it might mean fewer mosquitos this summer, for the still-warm pound cake in the kitchen that I am trying to ignore, for the kids squabbling upstairs because it means they're not arguing with me for a change, for the smell of this coffee, for the beautiful salt-glazed mug I'm drinking it in and the hands that made it, for the immense healing Jin Shin Jyutsu is bringing to all aspects of my being, for the John Martyn CD playing on the stereo..... et cetera et cetera."

I love doing this because it reminds me how blessed I am and how rich my life actually is. It's so easy to focus on the negative and on what I lack, but it takes real mindfullness to acknowledge what's good. Some years ago, my life was pretty miserable - or so I thought - and I spent all my time feeling sorry for myself. A wise friend, sick of listening to me moan, suggested I find a way to practice gratitude daily. I devised this little game. I began with 10 stones. It took forever for me to find 10 things I was grateful for. But I eventually managed it, so she told me to increase it to 20. I groaned and told her she was nuts. I eventually found 20 things to be grateful for, so she said why not 30? And so on. I think my bowl has well over 50 things in it now. It's literally overflowing, and so is my heart. Legs and Noodle, who are now wise to what this bowl is about, keep adding things to it - a fallen chestnut, a chipped chevron bead, an old Danish coin with a hole in the middle.

Whenever I'm having a crap day, or even an okay one, I take my bowl and practice this simple spiritual exercise. In 10 minutes or less, abundance has banished gloom. Gratitude walks again.


The large round stone at the bottom with the jaggedy lop-sided smile is my Skunk stone.