From Reaction to Reflection

One of the most profound things I have discovered while living a slower, more mindful life is how deeply I have come to observe not only my own reactions but those of the people around me. Anger, in particular, has stood out. I never really questioned it before. It was simply there, an ever-present undercurrent, ready to rise at the slightest trigger.

In the past, anger would arise more often than I realised. It would surface in small disagreements with family, friends, college batchmates or neighbours – people I trusted and cared for. I used to tell myself that it was natural to express frustration only with those close to me, as if that explained it away. But over time I realised this was a way to avoid facing a deeper truth. Even when I stayed calm outwardly around strangers, the anger still lingered inside, quietly simmering. I would find other ways to release it. The fault was not theirs: it was my own, a reaction I had yet to understand.

Since shifting toward a slower life, I have noticed something quietly transformative. I now analyse more than I react. When someone makes a mistake or says something hurtful, I pause. I try to understand why it happened instead of letting it trigger me. More often than not, miscommunication is the culprit. Sometimes it is insecurity, other times jealousy or sheer carelessness. Observing this has given me a new way to deal with anger, one that does not drain me but invites deeper understanding. At times, this leads to me ending up over-thinking or being sensitive, but with time I hope to find a solution to this too.

On the road, I’ve discovered an opportunity to observe myself and practice staying calm. In the city, life felt like a race. I always had to be right, fast, ahead. There was a constant fear of falling behind, of failing. Perhaps that is what drives so many people into irritation and aggression. But here, I let it go. If someone wants to overtake me or tailgate, I simply let them pass. Maybe they are stressed, maybe they are in a hurry like I used to be. Allowing them space has not only kept me calmer but safer too. A little patience prevents accidents and protects my peace.

That is not to say anger has disappeared entirely. There are still moments when it rises sharply, testing my resolve. I recall two incidents clearly. Once, a biker hit my parked car without looking. Another time, a driver overtook me recklessly and swerved dangerously into my lane. In both cases, my first response was anger and helplessness. I cursed the lack of traffic sense and shook my head at the chaos. But later, I sat with myself and asked, what else could I do? The damage had been done. Retaining my health and peace was my choice, not theirs. Maybe the biker and taxi driver were stressed, rushing or careless. Perhaps their life, like mine, is burdened with unseen pressures. Why should I punish myself further by feeding my anger?

Another memory lingers. While working on a corporate social responsibility initiative in an organisation, I strongly opposed the approach they wanted to take. They wished to focus on a nearby area, while I argued the funds would be better used in a more needy, distant community. The disagreements grew heated. We exchanged harsh words, and I felt anger boiling inside me. Years later, I met the managing director over coffee. That is when I learned their true reason. They wanted the projects close to the office not for community support, but so they could closely monitor the funds. If I had known then, perhaps my anger would have vanished on the spot.

Slow living has also reshaped how I deal with personal failures. Now, when I plant a tree, sometimes an expensive cultivar of a delicious fruit, and if I accidentally kill the young plant, I no longer feel angry at myself. I may feel a little sad at the wasted effort and money, especially since resources are often limited, but the sadness is soft, not sharp. I have learned that the earth is patient and that not every attempt will bear fruit. Anger would only cloud the experience. Reflection allows me to accept the loss and try again.

I also remember watching the ‘Kungfu Panda’ film with the kids. The shifu, their teacher, wants to achieve mental peace. After years of practicing, even he is unable to do so. That gave me a sense of comfort. It reminds me that mastering the mind is a lifelong journey, not an instant achievement. It gives me hope that with passing time and with a shift in my living style, I will be able to further reduce my anger and perhaps one day let it disappear altogether. I hope to influence not just myself, but also my family and friends, gently leading them toward the same path.

And yet, I am not perfect. My friends and family members still get angry and argue. I am yet to influence them. That too is a journey, not a failure, but a reminder that change takes time and that compassion toward others is as important as compassion toward oneself. The path is long, but it is meaningful.

Anger is a quiet destroyer. It eats us from within, slowly hollowing out our sense of balance and compassion. Yet when I step back and observe it with care, it begins to dissolve. Slow living has not magically erased anger from my life, but it has given me space to understand it, to choose how I respond. I am learning to let go, to breathe, to question, and to hold on to calmness like a tree holds onto its roots in the wind.

The world has not changed. People still rush, collide and disagree. But something in me has shifted. I now meet life’s little storms with patience and curiosity. And strangely, peace feels more alive than ever.

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