A woman on the internet calls them rage walks.
Work piles up, she laces up, and she walks the neighborhood yelling at nobody. Her husband, she says, is quite polite about it. He pretends not to hear.
Eighty-eight people liked that. I'd bet most of them have a version.
Here's what's funny about it, and I mean funny. The house is calm. Dinner's fine. Nobody at that table would describe her as an angry person. And every bit of that calm was manufactured on a sidewalk three streets over, out loud, at a pitch that would worry the neighbors.
The calm isn't the absence of the thing. It's where you put it.
So look at yours. The drive with the radio up. The garage. The hour at the gym that has nothing to do with your health. Somewhere you've got a sidewalk. A place the yelling goes so it doesn't come inside.
That's not a flaw. It might be the smartest thing you do all week.
The question is whether anybody in the house knows it exists. Or whether they think you're just calm.
The one thing for the weekend:
Find your sidewalk. Name it to yourself.
Then notice whether anyone you live with knows it's there. That's how much of your calm they've actually seen.
Josh
P.S. I finished my 30-day Ash Journal run on July 30. In public, one page a day, no edits, all thirty.
Five minutes. One prompt. One line of ash. The first seven days are free: truevitalyou.com/journal