It's the caption on a New Yorker cartoon sent by an old friend and reader. The drawing shows a whitehaired old man sitting at the window of his reasonably nice NYC aprtment. His wife is on the couch talking on the phone and the line is hers. He is holding a scoped rifle pointed at the window.
I think in my case the anger precedes the getting old part. But there are things to be angry about getting old. What you missed, what you didn't do, what got in the way, what disappointed,... and isn't it so rational to get stuck on that crap and stay there. (Please read irony into the foregoing.)
Getting angry is partly why I started this blog. To be completely honest it is something I have struggled with, gotten better at, and still struggle with. It's easy to have some pretty black and white judgments about temper. I do. And I get angry. I get angry at real and perceived injuries or injustices. I grumble about annoyances. I snap at people I care about. I'm not very nice much of the time. Funny, what's also true is that I don't trust people who are unfailingly nice. I don't believe them.
I probably used to get angry at drivers like me. Old people who drove slow. Now I get angry at the young ones who go roaring around me and cut in. Grumble, grumble. I felt richly rewarded one Sunday when someone not happy with my going the speed limit on a residential street arterial zoomed around me and sped off only to be stopped within block by a police cruiser that had been just ahead. There is some justice.
In 12 Step work, this is fourth step stuff. Taking inventory about how I haven't lived up to my own values and standards.
Yes, old friend. There is more work to be done. And I'm not just angry about getting old.
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