The temper that wasn't yours

You've called yourself short tempered. It runs in the family, you'd say. It's how you're wired. One more question after a long day and you'd go flat and cold. You even apologized for it in advance, like it was your eye color. You may have been describing a chemical, not a character.

Look at how your days used to run. They came chopped into pieces by wanting, and near the end of each piece you got sharp. The person across from you didn't cause that. The last dose wearing off did. Then the cigarette put out the fire it started and took a bow. Your fuse was never short. It kept getting lit for you.

That's why the change sneaks up on you. Nobody announces you've gotten easier to live with. Then one afternoon the person ahead of you at the register counts out exact change in coins. The heat comes up. And it sinks back down on its own. That gap between the spark and your answer is where your life happens now.

Find today's proof. A moment where the old reaction was loaded and didn't fire. Some days you'll spot just one. One is plenty. Keep it between you and God. He saw it, even if nobody else did. Maybe one day somebody says you got easier to be around. Let them wonder why. Turns out you're a patient person, and always were.