Underneath The Fireworks.

The yellowjacket travels lazily along the half-eaten rib. I’m surprised to see it this late in the evening. The sun has already set. Our party is over. A goodbye kiss from the last guest has already evaporated off my cheek. Alexa plays the music as if everyone is still here. The chill in the air makes me shudder, but I’m not ready to leave the deck. Inside the house, I hear running water as my husband begins to clean. I pull the hoodie close across my chest, against the rolling fog from the bay. It’s dense enough to hide the stars. But I do not need to see the sky to enjoy the fireworks. I feel their rumble deep down in my chest.   

Something small in me comes undone with each boom in the distance. And these tiny, sharp-edged pieces accumulate in my chest and stomach. It’s unnerving, and I don’t want it. I close my eyes, desperately grasping for recent memories of laughter around me from half an hour ago. But you can’t grasp the past. Every time I try, I find myself holding the present. I open my eyes to find them wet. I refuse to cry. Instead, I inhale and feel a fire grow in my stomach. But it doesn’t keep me warm. It agitates. My breath becomes shallow. Lips tighten. My tongue is ready for some lashing. And the urge to squish the yellowjacket swallows me whole.   

I grab the cloth napkin, reach over to commit a murder and pause. I recognize this. I know what’s happening to me. I am a seasoned couples therapist. I have addressed this numerous times in sessions. And yet, here I am. Completely at the mercy of the most common and complex feeling.

Anger.  

It snuck up on me without warning. Hijacked my peaceful evening. It put me aboard a fast locomotive train with no brakes. And I know that it’s just a beginning. The yellowjacket would not be the only casualty tonight. Next, I’d walk inside and yell at my husband. Every angry word would shovel another scoop of coal into the fire on that train. Making it go faster.  Speed is its favorite fuel.

Anger is fast. It’s a lightning bolt. I often refer to it as a runaway horse in sessions with couples. It’s easy to observe and process anger in others. Especially in session, where I’m calm, curious and in control. But I am not in a session now. I’m sitting on a deck, surrounded by darkness. I feel disconnected from everything. It’s just me and my anger. It’s unsettling to recognize it in me. The invisible fireworks boom above me. My heart races. My breath remains shallow. I have to get off this train. There is no one to call for help. I’m the help!

“I’m angry,” I call it out by its name in a whisper. With that small act alone, I feel the speeding train jolt as if it has been struck simply by being seen.

“I don’t know why I’m angry,” I continue with another whisper. The lights come on in every car of the train, and I am no longer blind in my emotion.

“Let me find the origin of my anger.” I go through my memories of the party, searching for any guest who might have said or done anything to upset me. But find nothing. I go further into the past. I see myself setting up folding chairs and tables on the deck. Us decorating for the party. My husband excited, but I was slightly sad. No, not slightly!

“I was sad getting ready for the party,” I whisper slowly. It is both a statement and a question. I let the words linger in my mouth. And then I bite into them. I taste the emotion. Sadness. It is so rich that it overtakes my senses. My breath is no longer shallow. It lets the air fill my belly. My heartbeat quiets down.

And the train finally slows.

Enough for me to see the scenery outside its windows. Of course, I was sad. This is the best holiday of the Summer. I always look forward to celebrating it. But this year, it’s different. With the world around me tilted off its axis. There is so much fear and hurt among the people. The present is bleak. The future unknown.

The train stops.

I threw the party, not to celebrate the holiday, but to celebrate the fact that we are still here. The future and its scary possibilities be damned! I want to acknowledge the present. Our strength for getting to this moment, here and now. Overcoming all the obstacles that came before.

I step off the train.

I am on my deck. The fireworks have gone silent. My glasses drip with moisture from the fog. The yellowjacket feasts on the half-eaten rib in front of me. The party is over. The celebration of the present is no more. The heaviness of the unknown future is back to haunt me. And it makes me sad.

It’s sadness that accompanies me tonight, not anger. Anger was a loud, runaway train. Sadness was the fire that fed it. It’s much easier to experience loud feelings like anger. It’s fast and when we act on it, it gives us the illusion of control. But it comes with a cost. A dead yellowjacket. A fight with my husband.   

Sadness is much quieter and slower. Harder to sit with, because there’s no quick action to take to escape it. The only way is through it. I’m sad and it’s okay. I don’t have to know how to fix the future of our country. Predict it. Or even control it. I just have to remain in the present. Take one step at a time in my sadness. Knowing that it will pass.

With time, not action.

And it’s time to join my husband inside.  

Yours,

Artur Akkerman, LCSW

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