The part of me that I hate the most is my temper. Arising quickly, seemingly as if out of thin air, it resembles the summer storms of my hometown: the sky darkens, electricity gathers, lightening strikes, and the heavens open up to a torrential downpour. Within minutes, the storm passes through leaving a clearing or, sometimes, a hot uncomfortable residue of oppressive air in which it’s hard to take the next step or think clearly. Paradoxically, my display of temper is often followed by anger directed inward or shame for allowing myself to express the full force of my feelings in such an unproductive way.
Having recently had an interaction in which my temper made itself known, upon thinking about how the scenario unfolded, aside from wishing that I had kept a cooler head and having to think about how I’ll do some damage control, I’m suddenly reminded of my dad who likes to say that “every man has his Garibaldi” noting that my temper is certainly mine. In the same moment, I remind myself that life is a practice and a journey in which we take each step with the ultimate hope of becoming a better version of ourselves.
As I reflect on this, I think about my son who has his own Garibaldis to climb. And I remember how, at an early age, I explained to him that we all have a black dog and a white dog that live inside of us and that at any moment of any given day, we have the singular choice to choose which dog to feed, knowing that the one that’s fed will ultimately grow stronger, potentially creating a situation where an untamed dark side can come to control us in ways that don’t serve our higher selves.
In the end, it’s my hope that as my son develops, he will practice feeding his white dog more regularly than his dark one, even when temptation exists, learning to make choices that serve him in the long run. And that when he invariably gives in to his darker impulses, he’ll remember that, like all interesting journeys, life’s trajectory is not direct but involves twists and turns and ebbs and flows that sometimes make you feel as if you are making progress while at others as if backsliding into an uncomfortable but familiar abyss. Throughout the process, however, I hope that he treats himself with compassion for his flaws, is kind to himself, and that he accepts his human frailty while learning from it to create a narrative in which he can momentarily fail and still see himself as lovable to himself and others.