An Exceedingly Well-Marked Path

On one of the first rainy evenings this winter, when I was cycling home from work, with my glasses covered with water, unable to see very well (i.e., before I decided just to take BART when it’s wet out), the driver of a van that got caught in an intersection when the light changed (i.e., someone who proceeded into the intersection even though traffic was stopped on the other side of the intersection) swerved into an open lane in order to get out of the way of cross-traffic, this being the lane I was in. As soon as there were about two inches of clearance, the van sped past me, only to have to stop right away for a red light.

I stopped and took a long and careful look at the van and its license plate. It’s supposed to make the driver nervous. I don’t know if it does. I imagine myself saying to the driver, “Just making sure I have your license plate number right so when we come over to [insert unspeakable threat here], we know we have the right house.” The idea is to conjure up visions of a well-organized cyclist retribution force, though of course I have never actually said this to anyone.

After several seconds of glaring, I cycle away feeling rather ashamed and/or angry.

I know, rationally, that the anger arises from my fear of being killed or injured. I know that when I spend the next two blocks mentally lecturing the driver, I’m hurting only myself. The driver doesn’t suffer, but even if he did suffer, it wouldn’t make me happy. It would just be that much more unhappiness in the world.

Therefore I’m frustrated at the persistence of these thoughts and I want them to go away. Not long after this, I actually considered breaking down and going across town for an interview with my not-seen-in-quite-some-time meditation teacher, Howie, to learn the secret instructions for making this go away.

But then I remembered that while getting angry can seem like an obstacle on the path, it is not. As Ezra Bayda says, it is the path. So how lucky that my path is so exceedingly well-marked! How fortunate that I get about 20 opportunities every single day to practice with anger and anxiety.

I have been finding Ezra Bayda’s technique of detailed thought-noting to be really fruitful. It does readily reveal what’s going on, and what’s underneath that, but often the news seems rather discouraging: I got angry again. How is seeing that going to help me? I’ve seen that a million times.

But what is it that I’ve seen a million times? Have I seen a million rude or reckless drivers, or have I seen and really experienced my own fear and anxiety?

Probably the former. I’ve “seen” that such-and-such driver was a jerk. I’ve “seen” that he shouldn’t be driving that way. I’ve even “seen” to it that he gets a dirty look and maybe a little lecture. (Formerly, I also saw to a good deal of screaming and swearing, but this seems to have abated greatly.)

That seeing is maybe not so helpful. The seeing that is more helpful is of my own condition and of the thoughts I am believing—my views and opinions. Do I believe the other person is the cause of my misery? Do I believe my problem will be solved if the other person does something different?

It’s uncomfortable to sit with fear, or confusion or uncertainty. Getting angry conceals anxiety, and gives a pleasing, if false and temporary, sense of clarity and certainty: “I am good and right. He is bad and wrong.”

I’d like to say that the point is not to eliminate anger altogether, that I don’t aspire to be permanently free from anger, but I’m afraid a goal of that nature does linger.

Not being angry seems better. It seems nicer.

A much better goal than not being angry, however, is to be able to see clearly what is happening and to improve my ability to sit with the underlying experience and not go immediately in search or someone or something to amend, get, or get rid of. It is a knee-jerk reaction to look outward.

If I can spend even one moment noticing what I’m thinking and feeling rather than being lost in and believing my thoughts, it can alter a given experience dramatically, revealing responses (including that of doing nothing) that would have been swallowed up in a rush to action. Doing nothing at all is appropriate in a surprisingly large number of situations.

Spending that moment to look inward is also a way of being kind to myself, of saying, “Hello, little knot in my stomach; I see you. I’m with you.” The actual feeling can so easily get lost if I believe my thoughts and proceed accordingly: “That jerk almost hit me! I’m going to go pound on his window.”

Making a split second of space here and there for my actual experience doesn’t mean I might not still decide to have a word with the other person; I well might. But it will probably be a different conversation if I have remembered to experience my own discomfort first and observe what my mind is up to.