Anger arrives fast. Heat rises in the chest, the jaw sets, and before you have decided anything the words are already on their way.

What makes anger so convincing is that it always has a case. It says: this is unfair, someone has to say it, I am only telling the truth. The books put it neatly: anger likes to wear the judge’s robe. It feels like justice. That is why people defend their anger as if it were a virtue.

Look underneath, and the case usually falls apart. Anger often grows out of something smaller and softer: a fear, a hurt, a wish that was not met, a pride that was touched. The angry speech is about the other person. The root is in you.

There is a moment, at the very start, when you can still see it. The heat is there but the words have not left. That moment is very short at first, and it grows with practice. One slow breath is often enough to open it.

You do not have to swallow anger, and you do not have to throw it at anyone. There is a third way: let it be angry while you watch it. Anger that is watched burns less. Anger that is obeyed burns the people around you.