What can be more productive is a solution. If someone pulls out in front of me, the solution can be as simple as allowing them to go about their business while letting go of any anger attached to the situation. Odds are that in an hour or two I will have forgotten about the situation anyway. A potentially more serious situation can come from a coworker who has caused a problem at work. Maybe they have taken credit for my work and I think I need that credit in order to secure a promotion; this is the fear of not getting something I want. Odds are that getting angry will not make matters lean more in my favor. The boss is not likely to believe me, let alone give me credit, if I begin to rant and rave during our meeting that so-and-so “stole” my idea. Such a response sounds rather childish and will not curry any favor with my boss.
If I allow my anger to control my situation, I am apt to do just that—rant and rave. However, if I can get a grip on my anger, I can handle myself more appropriately in the situation. I can keep my cool and my ability to think, and I can address the issue with a calm resolve to correct the misunderstanding.
There is an old saying: “He who strikes the first blow admits he’s lost the argument.” If I strike the first blow in a meeting, whether the blow is physical or verbal, I may lose my opportunity to take corrective action, and may appear rather juvenile in the process. My anger, which has signaled to me that something is wrong, can actually come in handy by giving me the necessary resolve to correct the issue. But I may ruin any future attempt at corrective action if I blow up in front of a roomful of my coworkers. I need to remember that just because my sneaky coworker has claimed responsibility for my great idea, it doesn’t mean that is the last word on the subject.
Things can often be corrected or fixed.
I remember leaving a meeting to go to lunch with a young man I was sponsoring. We were in my car and had gone only a few blocks when we stopped at a red light to wait for it to turn green. While we were sitting still, another car hit us. The accident was by no stretch of the imagination my fault; my car wasn’t even moving when we were hit.
I got out of my car to see if the people in the other car were okay, even though I was certain they were because the accident took place at less than ten miles per hour. When the occupants of the other vehicle and I met for the first time, we began discussing how to handle the situation. They were on their lunch hour and needed to get back to work; we were on our way to lunch and were hungry. Neither car was damaged badly, but both cars would spend some time in the repair shop.
The person driving the other car said she had never done anything like this before and asked me what we should do. I told her that since she was in a hurry, I thought we could simply exchange information—driver’s license, insurance, and phone numbers—and report it to the police at our earliest convenience. She said she would call them when she got back to work. I told her that would be fine, and we went on our way.
When we got back in my car, my sponsee said, “I can’t believe the way you handled that.” When I asked him if I had done something wrong, he replied, “No, I mean you didn’t even get mad. She wrecked your car. Aren’t you upset?”
“Of course I’m upset,” I replied, “but no one was hurt and cars can be fixed.”
“I thought you’d rip that lady a new one,” my sponsee said, then laughed and added, “I would have. I know it.”
“I think she felt bad enough without getting chewed out,” I said. “Still hungry?” Soon we went off to lunch, my sponsee still marveling at my calmness; I was, too, just a little bit. That was the first accident I had been in while in recovery, and I was a little surprised at how calmly I had handled the situation. Then I realized something else.
Until that moment, I had no idea that during the episode my sponsee was eying every move I made. I never did get mad. Sure, I felt anger—based on a fear of losing something I had—but I quickly asked myself what good it would do to let anger run the situation. I decided that anger over the possibility that I would temporarily lose my car would only make things worse, so I dismissed it for cause. Instead, the transaction took place in a calm and orderly fashion. The accident was obviously the other person’s fault, and I felt certain the damage on the vehicles would bear that out even if she didn’t admit fault. As it happened, after lunch, almost as soon as I got home, there was a knock at my door. A police officer had come to investigate the accident. I showed the officer my car and he said it looked exactly like what he was told. As it turned out, the other driver admitted fault and the rest of the matter was easily resolved. I drove a rental car for a few days while my car was repaired. Things could have happened differently, but I am inclined to believe that the woman acted the way she did because I acted in a civil manner. Had I acted out of anger, it could only have made things worse, because this situation went about as well as an accident can go.
I’m not saying everything in life goes better without anger, or that I can avoid or dismiss anger easily. When this accident happened, I had been practicing dismissing my anger when I felt it would make things worse for some time. On this occasion, I happened to get it right and things went smooth as silk. Life isn’t always this simple, but I have experienced enough anger-provoking situations now to realize that remaining calm is the way to go. I can save face by not acting like a crazed person. When I remain calm and keep my wits about me, I can analyze the situation more clearly, be more honest with myself, and generally get better results all around.
I Get Maddest When I Am Wrong
I hate to admit when I am wrong. I think everybody hates to admit when he or she is wrong. I might be wrong now. Because I hate to admit when I am wrong, I tend to get my defenses up when I find myself in a situation where I know I am at fault. This usually causes me to get angry—angrier than I would be if I knew I was right. Here are two examples, one when I knew I was right and the other when I knew I was wrong. The outcomes were very different.
A good friend once confronted me about how I had handled a situation with the volunteer helpline I was managing. The friend confronted me about a woman who had neglected to show up for a shift. The woman was young and attractive and my friend knew I favored her. She was far too young for me to date, but I liked her just the same. My friend accused me of giving her preferential treatment because of my feelings for her. I disagreed. An argument ensued, albeit one that started out calmly enough. My friend stuck to his guns and I stuck to mine. To prove my point, I suggested that he look at how smoothly things had run during my tenure as manager of the helpline. I calmly explained that when the young woman did not show up, the person on the previous shift called me looking for help. I got in my car, drove in, and took the shift.
My friend claimed that I wouldn’t have done that for another person. I pointed out that I did it whenever that sort of thing happened. My friend got mad and refused to believe me. He claimed again and again that I went out of my way to keep the young woman from looking bad. I informed him that since it was a volunteer helpline, there was no one to look bad to besides me, since I was the chairperson. I wasn’t bothered by those who did not show up. The helpline was relatively new and people were still not used to the idea that they needed to make sure they covered their shift no matter what else might be happening in their lives. I did my best to make sure every shift operator handled things properly, and when someone didn’t show up for his or her shift, I would go in to cover the shift, then have a talk with the person who had failed to work their shift in order to avoid it happening again.
When one of the volunteers did not report for a shift, the volunteer on the previous shift called me looking for relief, and I always followed up with the person who’d missed his or her shift. My game plan was the same for this young woman as it was for the other volunteers. No matter how much I either liked or disliked someone, I had to treat everyone the same. I told this to my friend. He refused to believe me, and his anger grew. Soon he was yelling at me. I sat back in my chair and let him rant. My only response was to remain calm and to reiterate the facts, as I understood them. I did my best to assure him that I would handle the situation as I always did. Finally my friend got up, told me I was hard-headed, and went into the other room.
I felt my own anger rise up, but knowing it would make