Anger has a place.

There's a reason (probably several) we evolved a capacity for it. I don't know why, though I'm sure we've got some guesses. Let's say, though, that we strip away connotations, let anger be just as valid a response as glee or trepidation. You're free to be as angry as you want, whenever you want. Except? Yeah, except you've got a budget. Like dopamine and fat, anger has a utility but too much probably isn't doing you any favors. Moderation. But holy hell, guys, moderation is tough, requires a lot of patience and nuance and I don't know about you but I'm trying to figure out so many things all at once that please, Moderation, you could be a little easier, dude.

04 Jul 2012

So, we have a budget, yeah? Then spend it wisely. A cyclist absently swerves a bit into the center of the lane, and you have a choice: shout expletives into your cell phone about some asshole on a bike while you're hammering the horn; or honk productively, to let the guy who's probably not any more of an asshole than you know he's swerving into traffic. The first choice might feel good for five seconds, but then there's a little bit more stress in your life. The second choice is productive, in that it produces a result: safety, and perhaps a little more enlightenment for the guy on the bike. If you're using a limited resource, like water or anger, then seems you want to consider what its secondary effects are. In this case, you're choosing between stress and enlightenment. Maybe that's an easy decision, but only after you think about it for a while.

Not that easy, you guys. The American culture includes a value assessment of your anger, your aggression, as a definition of your character. Not all Americans, and probably not only Americans, but at least Americans. (I don't get out much.) It's what drives a litigious society, one that appeals to some authority to get at the other guy instead of maybe talking to them about the issue. I hope we each have a story about that time we chose not to get in that lady's face or sue a dental surgeon for ruining our sense of taste, and then felt good about ourselves. Do that, the feeling good about yourself for being a grown up. It'll help start a good habit.

I've kind of figured that out for me but only insofar as it's a nice-sounding fiction to aspire to. I'm a petty, angry guy. I've done mean things to people I love. I've yelled and slammed my fist on tables because—beware, this is pretty graphic evil I'm fighting—because someone smacked her mouth eating cereal. It is so much easier to be angry in any given moment because it comes with a flush of feeling powerful, but it's not power. Power comes from spending your anger wisely. I think. I'm just making this up but it seems reasonable. At least, someone in a short story I'll never write, the reasonable guy, like Simon from The Lord of the Flies, or Yoda, would probably say something like that.

Actually, Yoda's not a bad example. If you've inflicted any of the Star Wars prequels on yourself, well first shame on you, but also, Yoda's calm and wise until it's time to drop a hammer on some asshole. Until it's actually time to do that. The rest of the time, he's flexing his alternative grammar muscles and confusing people into a higher conciousness.

The hardest part, for me, is figuring out when it's actually time to do that. Am I arguing with Danielle about the kid situation because I'm wrong and she's right, or because I feel guilty, and if the latter is it a justified guilt, and is there even such a thing as justified guilt? Who's right about what and when can I spend my anger productively? Maybe never, when it comes to my family and friends and anyone who's not oppressing me. Sounds like something Yoda might say.

☐

Mom is out.

It's Friday night. The good kind, with five days of paid pantomime behind and two-and-then-some days of awkward ambition ahead. Two blokes of obvious disrepair, mental-like, sit on opposing couches, a milk crate filling the divide. "No good" is how they'd later describe, probably in unison, what it is they're up to. For some value of "good".

We begin as pulses of electricity.

Patterns develop. Stimuli arriving in near-simultaneity become linked structurally. Impressions are formed, impressions in the physical structure of the brain, affecting the strength and reach of signal passage. The brain grows in sophistication, in connectedness. Basic if not simple functions, those coded for in DNA, are used as the building blocks of yet higher connections and functions. We bend the brain's capacity to detect visual features, like vertical, horizontal, and diagonal lines, into the ability to recognize a chair or a face. We feel pain, associate it with the visual and spatial attributes of the stovetop, and learn to avoid it with our fingers.

On December 12, 2010, I graduated from the University of Cincinnati with a degree in mathematics.

I'm still trying to figure out what I think about that. I started in February of 1998, studying physics at Miami University (Ohio), and soon after decided that I might as well pursue a dual math/physics major. Some years later, logistical practicality prevailed, and I chose to study only mathematics. I'm still skeptical that I ever did.

People and me, we're a hot and cold thing.

I get lost in a flesh-colored sea of mundanity, and feel powerless by virtue of membership. I may be awed by a feat of community, only to be horrified by the quickness of depravity. Hot and cold. Hidden somewhere in my DNA is whatever code whose execution makes me need community. I don't pretend to understand it, and I'm nearing the end of my too-cool aloofness toward the idea of sharing my concern with others, even putting theirs above mine. Each time I roll my eyes at Christian goodness expressed as a bumper sticker, I'm hoping someone sees it. I want to share my weak outrage, cleverly if possible.

Who knows what lies in the hearts of men?

The Shadow knows; and you don't want to. Conspicuous monsters aren't monsters. They're neighbors. This is why we still delight in dirty jokes; we all know their subtext, and can often predict their punchlines. We need these contexts, these distorting frames of awareness, to make sense of the world. We know we won't achieve parity of understanding and reality; our hypotheses will always need refinement. We accept that all our knowledge is approximation, and need it to be so.

About

My name is Daniel Black. I am on the internet in several places, including Twitter and Tumblr. I am a person. I am a father and a husband. I am was a university student of mathematics. I am a less formalized student of thinking, of philosophy, of writing, and of how to make decisions.

Continue reading about me if, you know, you're curious like that. It's okay; no one's watching. You could also subscribe to the RSS feed, if you swing like that.

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