It sounds obvious when written down, but I’m not sure we act like that’s true.
Many of us learned that anger is bad. Unprofessional. Unkind. Something to avoid, suppress, or smooth over as quickly as possible.
But anger is an emotion.
Meanness is a choice.
I’ve met angry people who were deeply thoughtful, compassionate, and committed to doing the right thing. Their anger wasn’t about hurting others. It was a response to something they believed was unfair, harmful, dishonest, or out of alignment with their values.
I’ve also met people who weren’t visibly angry at all and yet managed to be dismissive, cruel, cutting, or intentionally harmful.
One is a feeling.
The other is a behavior.
The distinction merits our discussion because when we confuse anger with meanness, we often stop listening to what the anger might be trying to tell us.
Anger can be information.
It can point to a boundary that has been crossed, a need that has gone unmet, or a situation that deserves our attention.
That doesn’t mean every expression of anger is helpful. It doesn’t mean anger is always justified. It certainly doesn’t excuse harmful behavior.
But I wonder what might change if we stopped treating anger as a character flaw.
What if, instead of asking people to get rid of their anger, we became more curious about it?
What is it trying to protect?
What is it trying to reveal?
What is it asking us to notice?
Those questions feel far more useful to me than pretending anger doesn’t exist.
And perhaps that’s where a more HUMAN approach begins . . . with a willingness to accept anger's invitation.
Last week, I ran across a Facebook post I shared years ago. It’s been shared almost 800 times, and as recently as last week.
“The oppressor does not get to tell the oppressed how to respond to oppression.”
At the time, I was thinking about power, justice, and systems.
Today, I wonder if I was also circling this same idea:
When we become more concerned with the presence of anger than with the reason it exists, we risk missing something important.
Anger is asking us to pay attention. Then we get to decide what to do.
For years, I’ve created spaces where people could gather around ideas, questions, and conversations that matter.
Some of those spaces have been formal. Others have been wonderfully imperfect.
Our Old House. Theater Talkbacks. Community conversations. Bring Your Own Bubbles.
What they all had in common was this:
People showed up with real experiences, real questions, and a willingness to learn from one another.
I need a space like that again.
A place to practice.
So I’ve dusted off my Patreon and given it a new purpose.
Welcome to The Practicing HUMAN Sandbox.
It’s a place to practice the HUMAN Framework using real-life dilemmas. Personal. Professional. Community. Leadership. Whatever you’re navigating.
I’ll bring questions and observations from my own life and work.
You’re invited to bring your challenges, too.
We’ll put them in the sandbox, explore them through a HUMAN lens, and see what we discover.
Because I believe in energy exchange, this practice space will be available to paid Patreon members.
And while the Sandbox is inspired by the same HUMAN Framework I use in my work with leaders, teams, and organizations, it isn’t intended to replace those experiences. This is simply a place to practice.
If that sounds like something you need right now, I’d love to have you join us.
The best way to learn HUMAN is to practice it.
You may notice there are four paid membership options: Bubbles, LOVE, HUMAN, and Rebel.
The tiers are different points of participation in the energy exchange that sustains this work. Choose the option that best aligns with your capacity.
Whether you join at $3.33 or $22.22, you'll have access to the same Sandbox experience. The names reflect the values and practices that shape this community, rather than different levels of membership.
My hope is that this creates a space that is both accessible and sustainable.
May you have the courage to honor your anger and not allow it to make you mean . . . See you in the Sandbox. LOVE first. Always. —TJae
In case you're new to Tuesdays w/ TJae, you should know that you won't receive emails from me every Tuesday, or on any particular Tuesday - but always (well, normally) on a Tuesday. As a child, whenever we'd visit my Grandpa James, he'd end the visit by saying "See you Tuesday," no matter when we were scheduled to see him again. So this newsletter is part nod to James Rivers, and part nod to my love of alliteration.
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