My first crane

I know it's not pretty, but ... at least it's a crane. And for that, I'm thankful.

After an embarrassingly high number of tries (and failures), on the final day before starting my big experiment, with mild panic beginning to set in, I finally managed to make a passable origami crane. And here it is, in all its glory. (Don't laugh!)

To celebrate my accomplishment, I went to Michaels and bought a $9.98 pack of origami paper -- 300 sheets. I figure I'll need 3.5 of these packages to make 1,000 paper cranes (allowing for some mistakes, because my crane-making skills aren't exactly Olympic caliber yet). That means the whole thing will cost me about $35. Not a bad investment. Especially if, at the end of 100 days, I feel any different. More peaceful, maybe. Less angry. Calmer.

We'll see.

Never saw this coming!

OK, we're not even at Day One yet, and it looks like I'm in trouble.

I cannot make a paper crane.

I've been trying now for the better part of an hour. My desk is littered with crumpled scraps of paper -- none of which look anything remotely like a crane. Help!

This is the wrinkle I never expected. I figured I'd spend half an evening learning to fold an origami crane, and then I'd be off and running on my 100-day experiment. The worst obstacle I expected to run up against was boredom ... or maybe guilt at using so much paper.

Now I'm defeated before I even get out of the starting gate. I tried everything: written directions; how-to videos; Wikihow. At one point, you're supposed to open your already-many-times-creased paper square into a boat shape ("a canoe," one helpful video lady said).

I tried. And tried. And tried. Nothing doing. That damn piece of paper wasn't gonna cooperate. "At first it will seem impossible," chirped the directions, "but with patience you'll get the hang of it!"

Oh, yeah. Patience. A virtue we angry people have in abundance. And mine just ran out. I'm going to bed.

What this is all about

I have a problem. A problem millions of people have. It's called anger.

I received this gift from my father, who received it from his mother, who received it from her father. And so on. You get the picture. This is nobody's fault. It's just the genetic stream that flows from one generation to the next -- a long bloodline of heartache.

For half a century I've carried this millstone, and for many of those years I've searched for ways to defeat the demon and pull it out by the roots. Hundreds of hours of therapy. Antidepressants. Reading every book on anger that I could find.

I think I even chose my spiritual path (Buddhism) because it offered some hope of inner peace. Maybe if I meditated long enough, and ardently enough, I would become the saintly, calm person I longed to be.

Nothing worked, really -- not in the long run. And now that I'm a parent, I realize the frightening potential for passing this on to my children. I try mightily to contain my temper around them but as any parent knows, kids will test your patience to the max. My children have seen me rage, I cannot lie. And the other day my youngest daughter told me something very painful: "Mommy, when you get mad, I get scared." I was driving the car and she was in the back seat, for which I was grateful. She couldn't see the tears streaming down my face.

I didn't sleep well that night, and sometime during the long, slow hours an image took shape in my mind -- a white paper "peace crane." I'd read about them long ago. It's a beautiful part of the Japanese art of origami, or paper folding. The crane is a sacred bird in Japanese culture, symbolizing long life. Traditionally, if you make 1,000 origami cranes -- an act called "senbazuru" -- your wish will come true. If you give your senbazuru to a sick person, he or she will be healed.

The paper crane became a worldwide symbol of peace after a young girl who survived the nuclear blast at Hiroshima made an intention of folding 1,000 paper cranes. She died of leukemia before she could complete the task.

So I decided: I'm going to fold 1,000 paper cranes. My own act of senbazuru. Each crane I make will be a whispered wish to let go of my anger. As my fingers create a bird out of a piece of paper, I will ask for the peace I lack.

I have no illusions that after I've completed this exercise, I will be instantly cleansed of anger. I know that making 1,000 paper cranes can't magically wipe away decades -- generations -- of a character flaw. But I also know that intentions are strong. If I can focus my mind and heart on the act of folding these cranes, day after day, if I can open to the power of such a simple, mindful act ... maybe something will happen. Something not exactly miraculous, but at least better.

If anger is a problem for you, too, or if you're fascinated with the legend of the 1,000 paper cranes, please join me on this journey. I'll begin October 1.