I’ve noticed recently that folks have been grouchier than usual—not just people I know, but the population in general. Fewer people are smiling, and often they seem impatient. These are not what I’d call the best of times.
I’ve been feeling it a bit myself—more tense, more irritable, something like the housewife in the old, “Mother please! I’d rather do it myself!” Anacin TV commercials. I was a kid when those came out, and my older brother and I used to tease our mother mercilessly about them. In time I came to feel a nearly boundless empathy for the woman stirring the soup that perhaps needed a little more salt.
Fortunately, years ago I stumbled on a sure-fire mood lifter for when my own pot threatens to boil over:
I retreat to a corner or a room where I’m alone and can move completely freely—nothing close by that I might hit. And then I begin to rage.
With my feet wide apart, often a little bent over, I clench my fists and swing my arms up and down in frustration, silently screaming why why why?, or whatever phrase best captures the complaint of the moment. This is generally interlaced with words that would have spurred my mother to wash out my mouth with soap. All of this is in silence (except on the very worst days—and even then, only when no one’s around).
It takes about 45 seconds before my anger and energy are spent, though it can seem much longer. Utterly worn out, I flop into a chair. Am I finished? Can I get up, go out, and face the world with equanimity? No? I rage again until I can.
I stumbled on the value of these solitary tantrums years ago, when my mom was still alive. Much of the caring for her fell on me, even though I lived seven hours away. My mom was so wonderful—funny, loving, and demanding of me in an annoying, endearing way. For most of her life she could run circles around me. But in her last years, helping her do the simplest of tasks ate up incredible time and energy.
One morning I rushed her through breakfast and bundled her up for an appointment with her eye doctor. We had six other errands to run that day. By then she was moving quite slowly; getting her out the door, down the five flights of her apartment building, across the parking lot, and into the car was a chore in itself.
Buckled into the car that morning, I saw that we were only five minutes late. Not bad! I backed out of the parking space and started off.
“Jan,” Mom said plaintively, “I forgot my purse.”
I braked and looked at her. “Do you really need it?”
She stared back without speaking.
I pulled the car back into the parking space and got out to make the trek to her apartment
As it happened, the previous week I’d seen a friend with her two-year-old daughter, who was throwing herself on the floor and wailing. I’d been in a foul mood myself that day, and I watched the toddler with envy. Now, walking back toward my mom’s apartment building, I realized I was utterly alone. And I silently began to rage, swinging my arms and cursing in a low voice.
It took less than 30 seconds. Finished, utterly relieved, I retrieved Mom’s purse and gave it to her with a pleasant, “Okay, now we’re all set.”
Having a silent tantrum has since become part of my coping toolkit. I’ve even gotten to the point where I can step out of sight and take care of business in 20 seconds. I’ve never come across any kind of advice that includes letting yourself utterly lose it in some safe, solitary spot. But why not? God knows we’re all confronted each day with enough imbalance and injustice in the world to stoke our anger. The trick is not to let it rule our lives. (This is not getting any easier.)
Current events, of course, are much more dire than my mom’s forgetfulness. Change is happening with incredible speed—which, of course, is part of the plan. In such times, how can we maintain a sense of balance and rightness in my life?
I don’t have any deep or soulful answers. The best I can do, I think, is try to remain clearheaded and grounded and, as much as possible, be kind—even if it often means spending a few minutes hidden away and silently raging as I try to pull myself back onto some semblance of level ground. At least I’ll get my anger out there, instead of hauling it around. And that, in itself, is a balm.
Thanks for reading! This is an updated version of a blog I published back in 2018, when the problem at hand was merely how to balance a mysteriously empty checkbook. Give it a try! And be safe, everyone!
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