Short Fuse Charlie

There was a time when I could go from zero to one hundred in seconds.

A comment.

A tone.

A misunderstanding.

And just like that, I was reacting.

Flying off the handle.

Shooting from the hip.

Jumping to conclusions.

Reacting first. Thinking later.

I call that part of me Short Fuse Charlie.

The funny thing is, he still shows up from time to time.

Not as often.

Not as loud.

But every now and then, there he is.

Unannounced.

Like a hiccup.

One minute everything is fine. The next, I'm wondering where the hell that reaction came from.

For years, I thought the goal was to get rid of him.

Now I think the goal is awareness.

Because most of the time, the reaction isn't about what's happening in front of me.

It's about what got touched underneath.

Old wounds.

Old fears.

Old stories.

The reaction is the smoke.

The real work is finding the fire.

These days, I still get triggered.

The difference is I notice it sooner.

Sometimes seconds later.

Sometimes minutes later.

The distance between the reaction and the awareness keeps getting shorter.

The distance between the trigger and the pause keeps getting shorter.

That's progress.

Not perfection.

Progress.

A little more awareness.

A little more ownership.

A little more understanding of what's happening beneath the noise.

Short Fuse Charlie may always live somewhere inside me.

He just doesn't get to drive as often anymore.

And maybe that's what healing looks like.

Not becoming someone who never gets triggered.

Becoming someone who comes back to himself a little faster each time.