Working Out

Or, how to not be such an asshole

I sat down the other day to write about exercise. It’s an easy topic, conveniently spanning the personal and professional, the research abundant and clear, and one of these days I’ll serve you a big juicy plate of that low hanging fruit.

But today is not that day.

I got to the office early to write this, cracked my knuckles, fired up the trusty old laptop and then stupidly decided to peruse Substack to warm up the engine. What I found - correction, what I searched for and found - was a blog written about a serious grievance I’d dealt the author, complete with photos and a link for your curiosity’s convenience. Oof.

It was emotional and reasonably well-written as far as I could tell but I actually sped-read the last half because the adrenaline pumping through my veins meant my eyes wouldn’t land anywhere for long.

In an instant, humiliation, shame and guilt exploded into a rage inferno, which is infinitely more comfortable than that trifecta of feeling shit, especially when that flame is thrown at someone else.

Whoosh.

How dare they?

That fury told me to:

• Drive to their house immediately and punch them in the nose

• Throw my laptop out the window

• Write a scathing comment on the blog pointing out its inaccuracies as well as the author’s own numerous character flaws supported by substantiating evidence of poor behaviour

• Cry

• Ring them while crying and unleash upon them a torrent of toxic verbal vomit

In other words, I really, really wanted to have a big fat ridiculous tantrum but I had a client coming in about an hour so I had to find other options, and quick. Also, I know that fury

follows the instructions on How To Be An Asshole, and friends, I am trying hard to be a better person, so here’s what I did instead.

This photo by Leon Ardho is clearly not of me

• I opened up the trusty Insight Timer app on my phone and found a short guided meditation to help me calm down. Seven minutes later my heart rate was back to normal and the rage was pretty much gone (Anxiety Buster ftw). In its place was sadness. Uncomfortable, yeah, but also reasonable.

• I did a little journaling to unpack the feels. What I found was that the rage had simmered right down to annoyance, frustration and defensiveness. Beneath that was shame (I’m an asshole), fear (am I always going to be an asshole?) and regret (I wish I hadn’t been such an asshole). The sadness remained. Still remains, to be honest, but it’s not so uncomfortable now.

• I said a little prayer to the Higher Power of My Own Understanding to help me be present with my clients, to speak through me so I could do my very best work with them. I’m not actually sure how this works; maybe it’s just me speaking to my highest consciousness, or Mother Nature, or Gandalf. Whatever happens, something happens.

• Distraction. It’s my go-to favourite strategy for short circuiting rumination, and when my first client of the day sat on the couch in front of me I was all in. The best distraction is helping someone else out. Mission accomplished, almost.

Doing all that didn’t simply steer me away from a tantrum and save the day. It allowed me let go of resentment, take responsibility for what inspired the writing of that piece to begin with, and find compassion for both of us here in the aftermath.

Guess I did write a blog about exercise, in a way. Like doing a bench press, each time I do those reps they are quicker and easier, so I can go heavier and deeper.

I’m still working out - assessing my current fitness, tweaking my form, re-setting my sights on my goal, which is a life lived in line with my values. If that’s the same as growth, my hope is that I keep growing 'til I die.