The Viking drinks a Scotch in his open-top car, in the storm — The Hammock and the Hummingbirds, practical guide
Hummingbird, the icon of the practical guides of The Hammock and the Hummingbirds

How do I keep from exploding when anger rises?

Invisible axe

You don’t lay down your weapons. You choose when you strike.

The keyYou can’t reason with a storm. You breathe in it.

“I still know how to swing an axe. I just choose when.”

Chapter 23 — Jazz, Dark Side

When it happens to you

It’s rising. You feel it in your jaw, in your shoulders, in your breath getting shorter. In 3 seconds you’re going to say something you can’t take back.

Why reasoning doesn’t work at that moment

Anger reaches the body before it reaches the head. That’s bad news, because you don’t see it coming — and excellent news, because the body calms down through the body, and that takes no conviction at all.

Rule

You can’t reason with a storm. You breathe in it.

How to cut off the surge, in 4 steps

  1. Raise an invisible axe. Yes, really. It’s because the gesture is a bit absurd that it works: it forces you to step out of the scene for a second.
  2. Holding it up in the air: I breathe in — four. I hold — four. I breathe out — four.
  3. One word, always the same, said in your head as you lower the axe. “Pause.” Or “Control.” Choose one and never change it: it’s the repetition that builds the reflex, not the word.
  4. Then you speak — or not. The axe doesn’t force you into anything. It has just given you back the 3 seconds you were missing.

⚠ It’s not meant for swallowing everything

The gesture is for choosing the moment, not for never saying anything. If you’ve been raising the axe three times a day for a month and nothing ever gets said, it’s no longer a calming tool, it’s a lid. Repeated anger needs an answer, not a breath.

What it changes for you

You get back the difference between exploding and deciding. You don’t give up your strength — and that’s exactly what makes the exercise doable: nobody sticks for long with an exercise that asks them to be someone else.

How to practise

Don’t start with the big rages, you’d lose. Practise on the tiny ones: the queue, the slammed door, the snide remark. Once the gesture is automatic on the small ones, it’s there for the big ones.

Remember

I still know how to swing an axe. I just choose when.

You may be wondering

I can’t raise my hand in the middle of a meeting.

Then do it under the table, or clench and unclench your fist. What counts is the break, not the size of the gesture.

Are three breaths really enough?

Enough not to say the one sentence too many, and that’s all we ask of this tool. The rest gets sorted out later, in cold blood.

And if it’s already out?

You can’t catch a sentence back, you repair it. One line is enough: “I spoke too fast, that’s not what I meant.” No elaborating.

Watch the hummingbirds

Watching the hummingbirds means changing your point of view.
Seeing things from every angle.
Accepting every part of ourselves. And of other people.
And laughing about it.

A hummingbird has every colour. So do we. Our shadows and our light.
You take one step to the side: green turns pink. Then gold.
Nothing has moved, except you.

What a practical guide is for

Trying out a tool.
Changing your point of view.
Laughing at something that weighed on you this morning.

What it isn’t

It isn’t therapy.
It isn’t a diagnosis.
It isn’t a courtroom: nobody’s looking for a culprit.
It isn’t a rulebook for good behaviour. You do what you like.

What it’s for

Accepting that we’re human. And fallible.
Our shadows. Our light.
Taking the drama out, to melt the resistance.
Not judging ourselves. Not judging others.
Laughing about it. It works better, and it’s more fun.

Nobody gets judged here. Least of all you.
We don’t know anything you don’t. We just wrote some tools.

Where these guides come from

Nobody made them up. They came out of a novel, chapter by chapter — in the order I learnt them. Not in logical order: in the order life threw them at me.

What you get, end to end:
Not getting stuck in the middle.
Not having to prove your worth.
Understanding the other person without carrying what’s theirs.
Spotting what keeps repeating.
Setting the limit, and holding it.
Naming the manoeuvre, which is enough to defuse it.
Getting out when the judges are also the accusers.
Listening to the body, which answers before we do.
Sorting out what we keep.
And finally: choosing where we’re heading.

I only saw the logic afterwards, reading it back. That’s why it holds: nobody drew it up in advance.

If something feels too big for you, see a professional. A guide is a tool, not a doctor.