GROUND YOURSELF. GROUND YOURSELF.

There are days when you just want to tell everything and everyone to fuck off.

There. I said it.

Now that we’ve got that out of the way, we can talk like adults.

Because some days are just like that.

Sometimes nothing particularly terrible has even happened.

It’s just one thing here.

Another thing there.

Someone who said something they shouldn’t have.

Someone else who said absolutely nothing when they should have.

A problem that had already been solved and, apparently, missed us.

A message.

A bill.

An obligation.

A person who, on that particular day, seems to be breathing just a little louder than necessary.

And that’s it.

We reach our limit.

“You know what? Enough.”

And for a few minutes, telling everything to fuck off seems not only like an option…

but an excellent life plan.

In our heads, we’ve already done everything.

We’ve finally said what we’ve been holding in for three months.

We’ve sent the message.

We’ve blocked two people.

We’ve quit our job.

We’ve decided we don’t need anyone.

And, depending on the level of irritation, we’re already at an airport with a small suitcase, sunglasses and a one-way ticket to somewhere nobody knows our name.

And the curious thing is that, in this imaginary movie, we always look fantastic.

Perfect hair.

Confident stride.

Zero financial problems.

Nobody asking us anything.

A brand-new life begins at 4:45 p.m. on a Tuesday.

Beautiful.

There’s just one tiny flaw in the plan:

the next day.

Because nobody imagines the part where, three hours later, we’d probably be sitting in the kitchen staring at a piece of toast thinking:

“Right. Now what?”

Fortunately, sometimes something extraordinary happens.

Five minutes of clarity.

The brain, which had apparently stepped outside for a cigarette, comes back.

— Sorry, I was out. What are we doing?

— I’m telling everything to fuck off.

— Right. And then?

…

And then?

What an irritating question.

Because we hadn’t thought about what comes next.

What comes next wasn’t part of the plan.

We were far too busy being dramatic and extremely decisive.

But that’s precisely when we begin to realise something:

some decisions give us an extraordinary sense of satisfaction for seven minutes…

and consequences that last considerably longer.

And so the internal negotiation begins.

Ground yourself.

— But I’m fed up.

I know. Ground yourself.

— But I really want to tell them a few things.

I know that too. Ground yourself.

— Just one message…

NO. PUT THE PHONE DOWN.

— But I’ve already written it.

DELETE IT.

— Can I at least save it in drafts?

…

Fine. But nobody touches “Send.”

Because the truth is, what we feel doesn’t become less valid just because we decide not to explode.

We can be fed up.

We can be right.

We can be hurt, irritated, tired or simply having one of those days when the entire human race seems determined to test our spiritual evolution.

And yes, sometimes there genuinely is someone who deserves to be sent somewhere very, very far away.

But perhaps we don’t actually need to buy them the ticket.

There’s a difference between feeling something and having to do something about it immediately.

It took me a while to understand that.

Not every message needs to be sent.

Not every answer needs to be given right then.

Not every decision needs to be made at the exact moment when we’re at our angriest.

And not every urge to run away means we actually need to leave.

Sometimes we simply need to let those five minutes pass in which we are…

a terrible idea with legs.

And perhaps growing up is a little bit like this.

It’s not about no longer wanting to tell everything to fuck off.

That would be asking too much.

It’s about still wanting to do exactly that…

but managing to wait five minutes before doing it.

Five minutes to ask:

“Is this going to take me where I want to go?”

If the answer is no…

Ground yourself.

Not because you’ve changed your mind.

Not because everything is suddenly fine.

Not because that person has suddenly stopped annoying you.

Let’s not get carried away.

Ground yourself simply because you don’t want five minutes of anger deciding the next five months of your life.

Then you can decide.

Tomorrow, if you still want to change jobs, move to another city, another country, block half your contact list and start a new life in a cabin in the middle of nowhere…

we’ll analyse the situation.

Today?

Put the phone down.

Have something to drink.

Go for a walk.

And wait for your brain to come back from its cigarette break.

It usually does.

Sometimes it takes a while.

But it comes back.

Ground yourself.

Ground yourself.

And then we’ll see.