Why I Never Get Angry: A Monk's Lesson on the Ball You Don't Have to Catch

When I was twenty years old, I asked my master a question that had bothered me for months: “Why do you never get angry?”

I had watched him closely. People were rude to him. Travelers insulted him. Young monks tested his patience daily. He remained like still water. I assumed he was suppressing something enormous.

He smiled and gave me an answer I have carried for forty years.

The Ball

“When someone throws you a ball,” he said, “you only catch it if you choose to.”

Anger is the same. Someone throws it at you — a sharp word, an unfair accusation, a slammed door. And in that moment, there is a choice so quick that most people never notice it exists: catch it, or let it fall.

Most of your suffering comes from what you chose to catch.

The Practice

I will not pretend this is easy. I practiced this for forty years, and in the beginning, I caught everything. Every insult, every injustice, every tone of voice. My hands were full of other people’s throws.

But the practice is simple, even when it is not easy:

Notice the throw. Someone’s anger is leaving their hands. It is theirs — their frustration, their bad day, their old wounds speaking.

Feel the urge to catch. Your chest tightens. Words rise. This is the moment of choice.

Open your hands. Let it fall to the ground between you. It can lie there. You do not have to pick it up.

What Remains

Now, nothing reaches me — not because I built walls, but because I stopped reaching out to catch what was never mine to hold.

The next time anger flies toward you, remember: it only becomes yours in the catching. Keep your hands open. Keep your peace.