I arrived at Rage RVA three minutes late for my appointment and feeling flustered.
I was coming out of my busy season at work.
I couldn’t find my shoes. I left my keys on the counter.
I caught that traffic light that always lasts forever.
I’ve been practicing yoga for 20 years, and I know how to calm down when facing everyday frustrations like these. I take a deep breath, drop my shoulders, unclench my jaw.
This time, though, I grabbed a baseball bat — one with some heft — and walked into a concrete and cinder-block room. Waiting for me was a beat-up SUV, a crate full of bottles and mugs, and an old dot-matrix printer.
With the drumbeat of AC/DC’s “T.N.T.” filling the space, I picked up a small plate, lifted it over my head and smashed it to the ground, sending shards of glass skittering to every corner. Then I grabbed the bat and slammed it into the printer, “Office Space”-style, until the casing splintered and the ribbon spilled out.
Ten minutes later, I walked out sweaty, with a cramp in my thigh — and grinning uncontrollably.
If the year 2020 made you want to scream, cry, and break things, I wrote a story for Richmond magazine about why you should. I talked to a grief activist, a laughter yoga ambassador, and the soft-spoken owner of a rage room.
Photo by Jay Paul.