Trying to explain yourself when you're upset is rarely a good idea.
One can also get a fair bit of stoicism-practice if one has a job where one is subjected to all sorts of attempted provocations: verbal, physical, both simultaneously, whatever else the douches of the night have to offer. Those here, who are in any sort of enforcement-related occupation, will know about this.
Those are the occupations where it is very quickly learned who belongs in the job and who had better either change--very profoundly and very quickly--or move onto something else workwise. As many a bouncer and LEO have learned, virtually everyone has a video camera these days...and few free entertainments are as stupidly compelling as a very public emotional meltdown.
Also, on general principle, there are few signs of cultural or genetic inferiority which are more obvious than a lack of emotional self-control. Fortunately, proper Nordic stoicism has served me well over the decades--though a guilty pleasure of mine is watching others perform the aforementioned free entertainment. Not many things are as hilarious as somebody losing it in front of a bunch of total strangers.
Oh fer ****'s sake...Quote:
Fortunately, proper Nordic stoicism has served me well over the decade
Why don't you just change your username to Thor and get it over with.
I can't think of a time where my temper has even been tested while training. If someone wants to win instead of train that is fine by me just gives me a chance to practice against that mindset and then the next round comes up I will be working with someone else. Yeah sometimes it sucks working with the guy who can't give the right resistance or just doesn't get the technique while drilling but oh well we are all there to learn god knows I have been the idiot who just doesn't get it often enough.
I'm pretty hard to anger, and if you do manage it, I'll let you know with words because passive aggression and violence are crappy languages. I had an angry guy kick my face as he slid in an armbar, which he cranked to the point I was surprised it didn't break. I knew him for a few more years and we were never cool after that. I'd rather not totally ruin my training partner's trust and opinions of me by being an asshole.
I get frustrated with myself much more often than I get mad at training partners. When I get really pissed, I just take a breather. Then I try to keep working at whatever was frustrating more calmly. Usually helps.
Beer. It solves most any prblem.
In my gym if two people develop beef then we let them bang it out. It really cuts down on the "if you wouldn't have stepped in I woulda....." BS, and people learn quick that if they want to act out of anger they have to see it all the way through.
We don't do pro on am greenlighting or anything like that - in a rare case that a seasoned pro is sparring with an ammy they'll yank the ammy out if things get rough.
If I get bent, I take a walk, just like all the other cool cats on this thread.
The fact that I am not naturally cursed with a short fuse doesn't mean I don't appreciate it in others.
When I'm bored, and there is someone nearby who has a fuse so short it takes no time to learn what sets him off, the result is assured. Sometimes, though, it's more interesting to see if you can push the buttons of a total stranger.
Case in point: some real piece of work shows up at the club and expects VIP treatment. I see him treating hard-working staff like microbes. I'll go over and quietly suggest to the staff in question that they're needed elsewhere (knowing what's in store, they usually stay close enough to see what follows).
With the servers/bar-backs/whomever out of sight, the aforementioned piece of work begins addressing his demands for service to yours-truly.
PIECE OF: Hello? Hellooo? Can I get some service here?
ME: (looking down at Piece Of, then looking at my watch): Hmmm...wouldn't hold my breath.
PIECE OF (stares incredulously): What? Do you know what I'm worth?
ME: Hmmm...minus the water, the calcium, phosphates and other salts that make up an adult human would be worth about twenty dollars.
PIECE OF (getting increasingly hopped up): No, I meant what I have in the bank!
ME: Considering the fact that very little in the way of bank assets are actually backed up by anything of real value, what you have in the bank largely consists of ones and zeros existing in cyberspace and nowhere else. You seem quite impressed by your collection of nonexistent ones and zeros, but I'm not sure anyone else will be.
PIECE OF (veins almost popping): DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!!?!?
ME (asking around in a loud voice): Can anybody help this individual? He seems to have forgotten his identity.
If (as is often the case) Piece of Work is a rich foreigner from some hairy-monobrow country, I can usually throw some amusing and colourful bigotry into my responses.
That, plus whatever Piece Of Work has had to drink, usually suffices to get him hopping mad enough to get pushy-shovey...which, of course, is my cue to serve him a nice kataguruma or some such out the nearest exit (the staff he had been insulting suddenly showing up to very nicely open the door).
At this point, there's no fun in landing Piece Of Work on his over-jelled-but-still-obviously-balding noggin. Better to let him--shrieking and cursing in fapistani or whatever-the-****--down on his expensive, accidentally-scuffed shoes, bid him a pleasant "have a nice night", and close the door in his greasy, ratty face.
Any cops nearby know the drill: before I close the door, they smile and they and I will say in practised unison: Another satisfied customer!
If he keeps squealing and **** after they tell him to calm down and go home, they'll just deck him. He's so pissed (as well as pissed off) that even the any video evidence will show him to be the kind of asshole no judge would give the time of day to.
Meanwhile, the club staff have had a good yuck in an otherwise hard night.
Moral: short-tempered people are totally fun to be around.