I used to be the road rage redhead. I had places to be and people to see. I had a schedule, damn it.
I had stress—a ton of it.
If you’re reading this despite the title—or because the title triggered you—I’m glad you gave this article a chance, because it’s not what it seems.
I didn’t write that fat is ugly. Fat is not ugly unless you think it is.
If we get over our petty frustrations out on the road, we’ll at least appear a lot more attractive. (And we’ll feel better.)
So, why did I throw in the word “fat?” (Certainly, not simply to catch your attention, though perhaps that was effective.)
But here’s the deal—
When our tempers flare, our bodies go into fight or flight mode and our primitive but safety-oriented brain does something to save us from imminent danger: it releases a surge of cortisol, norepinephrine and epinephrine—hormones we need when we’re in danger for the energy we need to flee the scene.
The thing is, when we’re not being chased by a Saber-toothed Tiger, we’re not really in danger and we’re not using all that surplus of energy. And guess where cortisol likes to store energy?
Right in the belly! Which, I repeat, isn’t ugly unless you think it is!
But it is unhealthy because along with that extra abdominal fat comes extra adipose (fat) surrounding our mid-section organs, and this can lead to all kinds of serious health issues.
So now we know that angry driving is making us fat—in an unhealthy way. And it’s making us angry—in an unhealthy way.
Yes, there is such a thing as healthy anger. Anger is a necessary emotion. It lets us know when boundaries have been crossed or something goes against our values. It lets us know something needs to change—STAT.
But when we’re angry all the damn time, that’s not good for us or anyone. If we’re triggered by traffic, that’s a sure sign that something’s gotta give. Something’s gotta change!
In the meantime, while we figure out how to fix the shit bits of life so that we can commute in calm bliss—or at least not constantly pissed off—try to think of this when someone sparks a short circuit…
When my mom died, I became an impaired driver for awhile. I wasn’t drunk. Or high. Far from it! I was low. LOW.
I was so distracted with grief that I probably shouldn’t have been driving. I forgot to signal or shoulder check at times. (I know, because I got honked at and given the finger—not in a good way.) There were likely other faux pas I made that I’m not even aware of.
We don’t know what’s going on in peoples lives. Maybe they’re having a shitty day. Or… Maybe they’re having a shitty life. (Or maybe we are.)
And that’s how I cured my angry driving. #Truestory
p.s. If you want to know how to fix the shit bits of life so you can get a life, get happy and get the guy, click here.
Vancouver Matchmaker and Dating, Love and Relationship Expert