LJ Idol Week 29, Stage 3, Topic B: The Thing of it Is
I once had a boyfriend who left me because of my terrible temper. It's so funny to think of that now. Nearly a decade later, I am a fairly calm person who is pleasant to be around. If I met the me of ten years ago, I'd probably tell her to chill out and get some help.
There was no real reason for me to have such a raging temper, and I'm not even sure what caused it. I do know that my father could be a screamer, and my sister became one too. As good a relationship as I had with my father when I was growing up, it was clear to me that he had problems holding it in when he was angry or upset. What would set him off we never knew. As recently as this morning, he was ranting about bad Mapquest directions--something that, I admit, could make anyone upset, but there was no reason to scream about it. They hadn't gotten him lost; they just tried to send him a whole three blocks out of his way.
So I assume that I picked up my raging temper from my Dad. And ten years ago, everything seemed to make me angry. I remember ranting for ten minutes on the fact that Cal Ripkin was doing the Orioles a disservice by not taking a day off. I got even angrier when I had an opinion and no one would agree with me. People's lack of agreement made me argue harder and yell louder, as if by raising my voice and my blood pressure, I could force an agreement.
When my boyfriend left me due to my temper, I was upset to say the least. Although in retrospect I am sure that he was not the first to leave me for that reason, he was the first to cite it as being completely unacceptable in civilized company. I was devastated, and had a sudden desire to change my ways. I called my mother. She, after all, stayed calm amid my father's yelling for forty years. Surely she would have some words of wisdom.
So Mom sent me a self-help book, and one I completely would have made fun of if it weren't for the fact that she was entirely serious in sending it to me. I was the type to make fun of self help books. In fact, I could rant for hours on the stupidity of self-help books, since I knew that you could not indeed fix your problems by reading books on pseudo-psychology. The book she sent me was Don't Sweat the Small Stuff (and it's all small stuff) and believe me when I say I nearly threw it out before even opening it.
So I read it. And ten years later, I still carry some of its lessons. Don't interrupt people. Count before you say anything. Criticism is never taken well, and all you stand to do is hurt someone's feelings by being critical. Every so often, when someone criticizes you, agree with them and knock their socks off. I vowed to adjust my temper, to work on myself from the inside and try to take these lessons to become a nicer person.
The thing of it is, it doesn't always work the way it's supposed to.
The first person I dated after beginning on my path toward becoming nicer broke up with me because I cried too much. See, I did not know what to do with my anger, and I swallowed it and turned it into tears. I just needed practice not becoming angry in the first place, and perhaps I was not yet ready to try out my new self in a relationship. It took years to figure out how to avoid becoming angry in the first place.
These days, I am the calm person so many of my friends know. I stay away from the news, because I know that it upsets me, and I have no desire to get upset or angry over world events. It is so important to me, because I know that I can go back down the path to anger and rage at any time.
The thing of it is, it is still a struggle. There are times when I simply want to spit venom--to rant and rave in anger about others' stupidity, about the awful things in the world that make it through my news-fast barrier, about unfairness everywhere, about politicians, about the educational system, about bad service in restaurants--I could go on and on. I tell myself that in the end, it is still small stuff--that getting angry is not going to change any of it, and that no one will listen to an irrationally screaming woman ranting about anything. Sometimes it works--I write strongly worded letters and use logic to allay my anger. But every so often, being rational and logical is dissatisfying; the anger festers in my gut, bubbles up in me and finally breaks through. I am only human, after all.
There was no real reason for me to have such a raging temper, and I'm not even sure what caused it. I do know that my father could be a screamer, and my sister became one too. As good a relationship as I had with my father when I was growing up, it was clear to me that he had problems holding it in when he was angry or upset. What would set him off we never knew. As recently as this morning, he was ranting about bad Mapquest directions--something that, I admit, could make anyone upset, but there was no reason to scream about it. They hadn't gotten him lost; they just tried to send him a whole three blocks out of his way.
So I assume that I picked up my raging temper from my Dad. And ten years ago, everything seemed to make me angry. I remember ranting for ten minutes on the fact that Cal Ripkin was doing the Orioles a disservice by not taking a day off. I got even angrier when I had an opinion and no one would agree with me. People's lack of agreement made me argue harder and yell louder, as if by raising my voice and my blood pressure, I could force an agreement.
When my boyfriend left me due to my temper, I was upset to say the least. Although in retrospect I am sure that he was not the first to leave me for that reason, he was the first to cite it as being completely unacceptable in civilized company. I was devastated, and had a sudden desire to change my ways. I called my mother. She, after all, stayed calm amid my father's yelling for forty years. Surely she would have some words of wisdom.
So Mom sent me a self-help book, and one I completely would have made fun of if it weren't for the fact that she was entirely serious in sending it to me. I was the type to make fun of self help books. In fact, I could rant for hours on the stupidity of self-help books, since I knew that you could not indeed fix your problems by reading books on pseudo-psychology. The book she sent me was Don't Sweat the Small Stuff (and it's all small stuff) and believe me when I say I nearly threw it out before even opening it.
So I read it. And ten years later, I still carry some of its lessons. Don't interrupt people. Count before you say anything. Criticism is never taken well, and all you stand to do is hurt someone's feelings by being critical. Every so often, when someone criticizes you, agree with them and knock their socks off. I vowed to adjust my temper, to work on myself from the inside and try to take these lessons to become a nicer person.
The thing of it is, it doesn't always work the way it's supposed to.
The first person I dated after beginning on my path toward becoming nicer broke up with me because I cried too much. See, I did not know what to do with my anger, and I swallowed it and turned it into tears. I just needed practice not becoming angry in the first place, and perhaps I was not yet ready to try out my new self in a relationship. It took years to figure out how to avoid becoming angry in the first place.
These days, I am the calm person so many of my friends know. I stay away from the news, because I know that it upsets me, and I have no desire to get upset or angry over world events. It is so important to me, because I know that I can go back down the path to anger and rage at any time.
The thing of it is, it is still a struggle. There are times when I simply want to spit venom--to rant and rave in anger about others' stupidity, about the awful things in the world that make it through my news-fast barrier, about unfairness everywhere, about politicians, about the educational system, about bad service in restaurants--I could go on and on. I tell myself that in the end, it is still small stuff--that getting angry is not going to change any of it, and that no one will listen to an irrationally screaming woman ranting about anything. Sometimes it works--I write strongly worded letters and use logic to allay my anger. But every so often, being rational and logical is dissatisfying; the anger festers in my gut, bubbles up in me and finally breaks through. I am only human, after all.