I relate to this a lot.
Rage. Rage at the blatant injustices of this world — from the plight of the Rohinda people to the way the colonizer-influenced Taranaki Maori nearly exterminated the non-violent Moriori, from the indignity of the Palestinian family facing IDF soldiers in their own home, to the American Black man shot dead in his own back yard. Rage.
Rage at the universal prank of being born a woman without a woman’s body. Rage at the condescending entitlement and almighty privilege exhibited by most of those unfamiliar with this condition.
Rage at the obscene unfairness of most capitalist systems. Rage at the racist immigration laws that allow Americans to call some people "animals" and keep their children in cages.
Rage at the sheer absurdity, the sheer stupidity of the human condition.
But, as Hannah Gadsby brilliantly points out in "Nanette" (haven’t seen it? Watch it — watch it soon), anger is toxic. It can consume you.
Just like Kit Malone, I use my anger as fuel to get stuff done.
And there is an awful lot to do, so this fuel comes in handy.