A short madness

An email lands wrong. A coworker takes credit in the meeting. A customer talks down to you for something that wasn't your fault. Heat climbs the back of your neck, your jaw sets, and a sentence forms that you'd never say cold. For a few seconds you are not quite yourself. You're sure you're right, you're sure they had it coming, and you can't see much past the wanting to hit back.

Seneca watched this in himself and in the powerful men around him, and he refused to dress it up: "Some of the wisest of men have in consequence of this called anger a short madness" (Of Anger 1.1, Stewart). Short, because it passes. Madness, because while it runs you lose the thing that makes you good at your job — clear sight, fair judgment, the ability to weigh before you act.

This is the week's move, and it starts with the name. Not "I was passionate." Not "I told them how it is." A brief, hot loss of the controls. You don't have to deny the anger or pretend the slight didn't happen. You just have to see the state for what it is, because you can't govern what you keep flattering.