The Umbrella View of Anger

I recall being caught in a sudden downpour on my first day in St. Louis. I was with three potential classmates, all of us 12th graders touring the WashU campus, and the sunny, humid June weather meant none of us had an umbrella. When it started raining, we were on the complete opposite side of campus—a perfect diagonal line—from the dorms, where our umbrellas and next activity were.

This resulted in a memorable adventure. We guessed at routes through unfamiliar buildings, sprinted between canopies, improvised two trash bag ponchos (unfortunately leaving the other two still uncovered), and nonetheless arrived drenched and late. Despite the end result, we had a lot of fun.

Contrast that with my first day in Costa Rica, two months later. I was with eight classmates on a short Spanish-learning trip, and I was the only one who had not worn appropriate shoes for our day of hiking and ziplining. This was objectively a better adventure than crossing a rainy US campus, and I risked only muddying a decent pair of shoes rather than soaking myself (or worse, my phone), yet I was frustrated for a good chunk of it. Why was this happening to me?

Reflect on your emotions for a moment and it becomes clear that anger can only be felt when we think a situation is unfair. The difference between sadness and anger is a clear sense that this was avoidable and/or should not have happened to us. The whole class getting a field trip canceled is sad. Breaking my wrist the day before a field trip and being the only one to miss it was frustrating. Whether you are sad or angry about being caught in the rain without an umbrella profoundly depends on whether anyone else is missing an umbrella too.

Here’s the thing: Whenever we face a setback, no matter how big or small, we automatically feel singled out by the universe. I am the center of my world, and I’m angry that only my graduating class was cut off from studying abroad in college due to the COVID-19 pandemic, while everyone before and after us got to have that unique traveling experience. However, when I remember that neither my graduating class nor I were the only ones without an umbrella—that literally everyone was and still is impacted by the pandemic—that anger fades.

I don’t believe this is a more moral or otherwise better way to think. I just know that I don’t like feeling angry. And I don’t want to increase my own suffering by not regulating my emotions.

Most of the time, if I look up from a smaller puddle underfoot and glance at someone else, I can see that they’re definitely dealing with something too. And if I’m not the only one without an umbrella, then I’m better off laughing and trying to navigate the rainy campus with them instead of dwelling on my stormcloud.