I'm not an angry person, which is probably why you find it hard to imagine, Zephira. I was never some brute who went around beating people up. I find that kind of manner deplorable. What happened with me is a testament to the fact that even the mild-mannered can lose their tempers. That's human nature.
The humbling thing is that anyone can experience the same. No human prudence is 100 percent effective. Everyone is going to lose their temper sometimes, if they expose themselves to the risks. It's a just a matter of when, where, and how badly. My ex-roommate and I had never liked each other; we moved in together out of financial opportunism. That was a mistake. Living with him built up a lot of stress in me. That was a recipe for trouble. The most useful choice I made as a result of fighting with him has been that, since then, I rarely keep destructive people in my life. The rare exceptions, I keep at arm's length. Avoiding the risks helps me to avoid the thing itself.
It reminds me of that old saying, "If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen." In the saying, "the kitchen" is a metaphor for adversity. We all have "kitchens" in our life that threaten to overwhelm us. Some of these adversities are worthy, and worth confronting despite the risks, but some are not. Some kitchens aren't worth it. If you subscribe, as I do, to the notion that an individual's identity varies depending on what kind of "kitchen" he or she is in at the time, then it makes sense to say: Don't venture into the kitchens that bring out the worst in you. Some heat is simply not worth standing.
I'm better off than most, because, since I'm not characteristically violent or angry, I have no personality traits that needed changing. What I did do was change my surroundings--my "kitchens" of life. (And it would be entirely apt to describe my life as a series of kitchens for the preparation of everything from cake to world domination.) I lost my temper with my roommate because of three different factors that all aligned at once: I was dead tired that night, he had made the first move by provoking me, and we had been increasingly stressed out with one another ever since moving in together. Any two of those would not have been enough to make me lose my temper, but with all three I snapped. That particular kitchen was a place whose fires saw me fatigued, provoked, and stressed out. Thus, the lesson I took was to avoid putting myself into that kind of kitchen again. When I'm not in there, I'm not going to be the kind of person who loses his temper. When I am in there, all bets are off.
That's part of the process of humbleness, which is good for me. Knowing that I'm not infallible, knowing that there are places I could venture where the integrity I cultivate in myself could be so easily diminished, is a humbling, helpful lesson for anyone who seeks power (which I do). This firsthand knowledge is a big part of my motivation for encouraging you to move out of your house, Zeph, what with all the troubles that happen there. You haven't been spoiled by that place yet, but you're at risk the longer you stay there. I used to live in a broken house, and it nearly broke me. Flee that place, is my advice.
And bring your driver's instruction manual on Friday. =P
