Random Drum-Inspired Musings
Posting from: Tucson, AZ
On Thursday this week, I felt rather angry over something that took place at work near the end of the day. I was doubly pissed off when I realized on the drive home that I was taking my anger home with me. That's not right. Work anger should stay at work. My home is supposed to be my refuge.
But my hour and a half drive home gave me a lot of time to think about this. I was more aware than usual of its effect on my physical being. I was hunched over my steering wheel. I was gripping it tightly. My shoulders were pulled in near my ears and my neck felt tight. I was driving more aggressively than usual. I was getting very frustrated because I didn't know how to get rid of my anger and I could really feel it building.
And then suddenly I realized I did know what to do with it, and immediately I felt myself loosen up and sit up taller. When I got home, there would be my drumset waiting for me to beat the shit out of it. And, masochist that it is, it would LIKE IT!
An hour and a half is a nice long drive so I got to thinking about why I would feel so much better knowing that there was something very physical for me to do when I got home. If you think about drums, there's not just the fact that you get to move all of your limbs but also there's this great loud noise coming out of them. And the theory I settled upon is that for some reason I need to translate my emotions into some physical outlet. I think this is true of many people. When people celebrate, they may applaud, cheer, dance, etc... When they get angry, people may shout or become violent. Others may go for a run. In this very moment as I'm writing this, I just realized that my ex-husband, who frequently denied being angry when I'm pretty sure he was, would in those same situations retreat to his office to play guitar. Hmmm...
Anyway, my mind wandered next to what I learned as a kid, and that was really disturbing to think about. This may be the greatest disservice our parents ever did us kids. When I was angry as a kid, there was really no acceptable physical outlet for anger. No yelling, no door slamming. Fine, that's really not appropriate. But there was nothing else acceptable either, and certainly nothing suggested by my parents. I remember getting in trouble when I was angry and would go out the front door to go for a brisk walk. No crying allowed either. It was the most ridiculous thing now that I'm thinking back on it.
Kids were expected to stand there and be yelled at, be called names, and be hit when parents were angry. We, of course, were not supposed to express our anger that way, but neither were we told any acceptable way of expressing our anger. The only acceptable thing for us to do was to go to our room and do nothing- and that was allowed only when our parents were done dumping their anger on us.
The unspoken lesson was don't get angry, and if you do, then don't get rid of it. Well, let me tell you, that leads to a lot of fucked up kids turning into a lot of fucked up adults.
I've told Erik my drum teacher on a few occasions that I think he's doing the world a great service by giving all his teenage students a nice outlet for their emotions. Every time I think about it, I agree with myself more and more.
On Thursday this week, I felt rather angry over something that took place at work near the end of the day. I was doubly pissed off when I realized on the drive home that I was taking my anger home with me. That's not right. Work anger should stay at work. My home is supposed to be my refuge.
But my hour and a half drive home gave me a lot of time to think about this. I was more aware than usual of its effect on my physical being. I was hunched over my steering wheel. I was gripping it tightly. My shoulders were pulled in near my ears and my neck felt tight. I was driving more aggressively than usual. I was getting very frustrated because I didn't know how to get rid of my anger and I could really feel it building.
And then suddenly I realized I did know what to do with it, and immediately I felt myself loosen up and sit up taller. When I got home, there would be my drumset waiting for me to beat the shit out of it. And, masochist that it is, it would LIKE IT!
An hour and a half is a nice long drive so I got to thinking about why I would feel so much better knowing that there was something very physical for me to do when I got home. If you think about drums, there's not just the fact that you get to move all of your limbs but also there's this great loud noise coming out of them. And the theory I settled upon is that for some reason I need to translate my emotions into some physical outlet. I think this is true of many people. When people celebrate, they may applaud, cheer, dance, etc... When they get angry, people may shout or become violent. Others may go for a run. In this very moment as I'm writing this, I just realized that my ex-husband, who frequently denied being angry when I'm pretty sure he was, would in those same situations retreat to his office to play guitar. Hmmm...
Anyway, my mind wandered next to what I learned as a kid, and that was really disturbing to think about. This may be the greatest disservice our parents ever did us kids. When I was angry as a kid, there was really no acceptable physical outlet for anger. No yelling, no door slamming. Fine, that's really not appropriate. But there was nothing else acceptable either, and certainly nothing suggested by my parents. I remember getting in trouble when I was angry and would go out the front door to go for a brisk walk. No crying allowed either. It was the most ridiculous thing now that I'm thinking back on it.
Kids were expected to stand there and be yelled at, be called names, and be hit when parents were angry. We, of course, were not supposed to express our anger that way, but neither were we told any acceptable way of expressing our anger. The only acceptable thing for us to do was to go to our room and do nothing- and that was allowed only when our parents were done dumping their anger on us.
The unspoken lesson was don't get angry, and if you do, then don't get rid of it. Well, let me tell you, that leads to a lot of fucked up kids turning into a lot of fucked up adults.
I've told Erik my drum teacher on a few occasions that I think he's doing the world a great service by giving all his teenage students a nice outlet for their emotions. Every time I think about it, I agree with myself more and more.
Labels: drums
posted by Kirsten | 1/27/2007 10:48:00 PM
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