Step #26: Ascend and Release.

You've been wronged.

This time, it's not so easy to shake off. You're pissed and you want revenge. Action movie-type revenge: formulaic to a tee; borderline comical; barely clinging to reality--hot, sweet action to the max. The model is so seductive: A protagonist (oft a renegade) that can walk up to their adversary, buy them a drink, shoot ‘em in the chest, and tip the bartender. They walk out, (in slow motion of course), pull the pin out of the grenade...drop it on the ground and don't look back. Retribution. Devastation in their wake. Pulse steady. Body controlled. Jaw relaxed.

A phenomenon. No tears. Just stoicism. Quiet. Sexy. Fascinating.

I'd kill a drifter to be able to harness that kind of resolve. Can you imagine the possibilities? Decisions filled with conviction. Wrongs revenged. Regrets be damned. All at once being endowed with courage to stand up, fight back, and not give a fuck. Renegade.

The fantasy begins: I walk in, (shot of course starting on my militant footwear and legs that are twice as long as normal for effect and frankly, it's my fantasy). I'm out for revenge. My steps are smooth, slow and measured. No one's going to cross me. It seeps from my pores, drips off my words. I’m ready to fuck somebody up. I'm righting wrongs every which way I look. Never ceasing, never letting up. It is awesome. I barely recognize me... until its time to go. It all comes down to the slow walk away with the apocalyptic explosion behind me. It's the climax. Grenade in hand, a sweaty, clammy hand. Lump in throat. Just go. Just walk away. You got what you came for, now let it burn.

So I pull the pin. (heeeeeeere's where things go a little wayward.)

I freak the fuck out. I mean like a sweaty, neurotic Larry David freak out. There is no sexy, sure stride isolating me from the fireball. I'm scrambling, wincing at the eyebrow singing heat and muttering things like, Oh Jesus, is everyone okay back there...? Did you see that fireball? Oh, the humanity!!

Not at all the picture of strength I had hoped for. Why can't I walk away from the devastation without looking back? Why can't I be more John McClain and less George Costanza? Am I weak? Do I lack conviction? Even in a fantastical world where my legs are long, I can't go through with it. It all feels too dangerous, too disconnected. It lacks humanity and compassion. I should just grow a pair, right? My better senses and human physiology tell me otherwise.

Strength manifests itself in all sorts of ways. While brute force seems a spectacular release, it doesn’t really dwell in reality. I’m not enriched. I’m not satisfied (for long). And I don’t feel better…

Now what?

What are my choices? A list of aphorisms that reads like last week’s fortune cookies? Great...

1. Take the high road.

2. Be the bigger person.

3. Let it go.

Easier said than done...much easier.

When put into practice, these adages can require the strength and self-restraint of a Buddhist monk. The practice forces you to really harness a strength within you and focus it. I, for one, am dazzled by this supposed inner super power. The fantasy ain't much but, it's got a quiet grace to it. Although exacting action movie revenge is tantalizing as hell, it usually ends up with a school bus exploding while flying off a cliff in mid-air (I'm pretty sure my insurance does NOT cover that.)

So, I’m not designed for revenge. It all makes me tired. I'd much rather quiet grace. It feels a lot better and requires no firearms. Fortune cookie, anyone?