Anger

This is sortof kinda not really the third part to a weird little trilogy that I started in October. If you’re curious, you can see how the whole thing began here. And continued here. But you don’t need to have read what I wrote then to know what’s going on in this post. Because I’m about to explain it to you. And really they’re all connected in the same way that my train of thought is connected from one moment to the next. Sometimes super obviously, but more often because there was a word in that sentence that reminded me of how this other word sounds and oh woah isn’t that cool? And then I’m off on a completely different thought.

The point of this whole story is that there was a moment in that post from October that a friend of mine wanted me to expand on. That moment, was, and I quote:

“See what I did there? It’s so much easier to be mad at someone else than at myself.”

I don’t think it needs too much explanation on its face. I find it easier to be mad at something external to me than something internal. Because if it’s external, then it means that I don’t have any responsibility in how annoying it is. Wouldn’t it be lovely to have life just tumble out that way? With us having no responsibility in the things that make us mad? Oh, but hold on. Someone doing something over there isn’t necessarily annoying: it’s only annoying if that’s how I react to it. Which means that I do have responsibility in the things that make me mad. Dammit.

Have you ever had one of those days where “everyone” was just an asshole? Yeah…me too. And I can assure you, the only constant in that “everyone” was me. So who, exactly, was being an asshole that whole day? Radical self-responsibility, people. I think that should be something we practice starting as children along with multiplication tables and handwriting exercises. Do they even do handwriting exercises anymore? Ha! That’s the last time someone confuses me with a Millennial.

And that’s about all I have to say on that. I know, I know, not every post needs to be a thousand words or more.

Well, hold on. The reason why I was annoyed with myself, though. Hmmmm. The reason why I was mad was because someone had assumed that I would be willing to coach a woman going through cancer treatment without asking me about it before making the introduction. When I asked them about it later, he said that I put myself out there by writing a book, so who am I to be annoyed when someone assumes that I’m willing to be a resource one-on-one? To begin with, they’re two entirely different things. But the reason why I was mad? Well, I’m contemplating becoming a coach. And haven’t done it yet because the word “coach” makes me want to punch myself in the face because it implies (in my mind) “untrained charlatan charging people $500 an hour to not be a therapist.” So I would only do it if I had training and certification and all those things and that takes time and money. But in the meantime I do have this knowledge and would like to not only help people by sharing it (hence writing a book), but also monetize it. So basically my friend dumped this woman in my lap right when I was feeling like I should be getting paid for my knowledge but before I have the qualifications to charge people. Ahhh, there it is. So do I just not talk to anyone until I have the training? No, partially because the training involves hours and hours and HOURS of actual one-on-one work. But because I’m anal and type-A and like to have things in boxes, in my mind I hadn’t yet created the box where this woman could fall into “training hours” so instead in my mind she was just “time-wasting hours and a lost book sale.”

And then I had to take a breath and remind myself that I’m not in control of the opportunities that life presents me, I’m working on the practice of being kind, and sometimes life just happens.

So I’m not annoyed anymore. Well, not entirely. I’ve told you time and time again, this is all a practice.