I head out for a walk on a pleasant spring evening. I purposefully leave behind my phone and Mp3 player but do wear a FitBit – always trying to count steps….
The air is filled with pollens, the gardens green and colourful. I feel light of body but realise soon enough that I am impatient. My head is filled with previous conversations, repetitious thoughts and frustrations and I feel revved-up. Distance passes swiftly, momentum gained with each internal scowl.
I continue my bothersome journey, enjoying the walking, trying to figure out a solution or argue my point. I feel a lack of passion, wishing I knew what-to-do to ease my discomfort. I wish I could feel passion for something. Anything. I breathe in for 4 steps, out for 8. I am still holding my breath so I breathe in for 4 steps, out for 10. Now I’ve let out all of my breath and go back to 4-8.
I reach my destination – to water a plant that I had planted in a garden recently. I turn on the hose and am aware of guests wandering around the garden. They don’t notice me. The water sprays my plant and it hits me – I am angry. I am in awe of the simplicity and purity of my diagnosis. Anger. I feel anger.
I feel it. I feel what anger feels like. I am angry at the cigarette butt someone has carelessly thrown in my planted garden. I am angry that my mattress is terrible and I wake with a sore back every morning. I am angry that I forgot to make a few phone calls today. I am angry that housework issues linger without resolution. I am angry that I feel undervalued by my boss, my dad, my partner and many others. I am angry that I have so little time in my day to sort my shit out. I am angry that I am slightly good at many things, terrible at others. I am angry that I balk and fear so many challenges. I am angry at the injustices of women. I am angry at politicians and world leaders. I am angry at dishonesty. I am angry that I feel so powerless to help any cause, that my efforts seem so futile.
I am calm in my anger. I start watering other plants, noticing the quiet raging in my heart and body.
The walk home is not so enlightening but I enjoy my new awareness. I have shied away from anger. I haven’t had healthy dealings with it, tending to repress or very occasionally fly off the rails. This experience of anger feels safe. No distress, no confrontation, just sensation.
I’m hoping I continue to explore anger as the need arises, to feel and express this emotion in healthy creative ways.
And I found some passion to write. Win-win.