Issue No. 93

When I was younger, emotions ruled my life like an unpredictable storm. If I felt anger, it erupted without warning. If frustration overwhelmed me, I reacted impulsively, often saying or doing things I’d later regret. Back then, I believed that reacting immediately to how I felt was the natural—and even necessary—way to live. After all, emotions are powerful; they demand attention. But what I didn’t realize is that reacting impulsively to every surge of feeling often led me down paths I regretted later.

Take anger, for instance. There were times when someone said something hurtful, and instead of pausing to think, I lashed out with cutting remarks meant to wound as deeply as I had been hurt. In the heat of the moment, it felt justified—but afterward, the damage was done. Relationships suffered, trust eroded, and I was left carrying the weight of regret. Had I taken a step back, breathed, and processed my anger before responding, I could have addressed the issue constructively rather than destructively.

Even happiness, in its euphoric highs, can lead us astray if we act too quickly. When I landed my first job, I was ecstatic—overjoyed at the prospect of financial independence and eager to celebrate this new chapter in my life. In my excitement, I went on a shopping spree, buying appliances I thought would make my life easier. At the time, it felt like the perfect way to mark the occasion. But reality soon set in. Many of those items ended up unused, taking up space and collecting dust. Eventually, I sold them at a fraction of their original cost when I lost that job, realizing that my impulsive decisions had been driven more by fleeting joy than practical need.

In fact, doing so can lead to poor decisions and unintended consequences. Instead, emotions should be treated as signals—a temporary alarm system meant to draw our awareness to something important. They aren’t directives dictating our next move but rather reminders that something within us requires attention. The key lies in learning to pause, feel, and reflect before acting.

Think about it this way: when you’re too happy, your judgment can become clouded by euphoria, leading you to make rash decisions you might later question. On the flip side, when consumed by anger or fear, your choices are driven by reactivity rather than reason. Both extremes result in outcomes that lack thoughtful consideration. As the saying goes, “Don’t make decisions when you’re overly emotional.” Emotions, no matter how intense, are fleeting—they pass through us like trains on a track. And just as you wouldn’t jump onto a moving train without knowing where it’s headed, you shouldn’t let raw emotions carry you away without understanding their purpose.

For years, I thought I was the train. I let my emotions take control, believing they defined me and dictated my actions. Anger would flare, and I’d lash out. Fear would settle in, and I’d withdraw completely. Each reaction seemed justified at the moment, but looking back, I see how often those impulsive responses only made things worse. By giving in to the immediacy of my feelings, I allowed them to grow stronger, amplifying their influence over my thoughts and behaviors.

But emotions aren’t meant to rule us—they’re meant to guide us. Imagine them instead as a passing train, rumbling into view with a message from deep within. Its arrival alerts you to something significant: perhaps unresolved pain, unmet needs, or even joy worth celebrating. Yet the train doesn’t stay forever—it moves along, leaving behind clarity if you allow yourself the space to observe it. When you resist the urge to board impulsively, you gain perspective. You begin to see the horizon more clearly, free from the distortion of unchecked emotion. Only then can you decide which direction to take—one rooted in wisdom, not reactivity.

This shift in mindset has been transformative for me. Rather than letting emotions dictate my actions, I now try to sit with them, to listen closely to what they’re trying to tell me. When frustration arises, I ask myself: What is this feeling pointing to? Is there a problem that needs solving, or am I simply overwhelmed and need rest? When fear surfaces, I explore its source: Am I avoiding something because I’m afraid of failure, or is this a legitimate concern? Even happiness, in its exuberance, prompts reflection: Is this joy sustainable, or am I caught up in fleeting excitement?

This practice isn’t easy—it takes patience and self-awareness. At first, sitting with uncomfortable emotions feels unbearable. We’re conditioned to escape discomfort, to silence sadness or suppress anger. But avoiding these feelings only prolongs their hold on us. By leaning into them, however briefly, we strip them of their power to derail us. Over time, I’ve learned that emotions lose their intensity when acknowledged and understood. Like clouds drifting across the sky, they appear, linger, and eventually dissipate, making room for calm and clarity.

I believe this is the essence of emotional intelligence—the ability to recognize, understand, and manage our emotions before they overwhelm us. It’s not about suppressing feelings or pretending they don’t exist. It’s about honoring them as valuable messengers while refusing to let them hijack our decision-making. Emotional intelligence gives us the tools to navigate life’s complexities with grace and intention, ensuring that our actions align with our values rather than our fleeting moods.

If I could go back and speak to my younger self, I’d offer this advice: “You are not what you feel. You don’t have to act on every emotion. Let them come, let them teach you, and then let them go. Trust that the stillness after the storm will reveal the path forward.” Life is full of challenges and uncertainties, but by cultivating this kind of mindful relationship with our emotions, we equip ourselves to face them with resilience and wisdom.

Until next week,