Seneca isn't simply advising you to count to ten—he's suggesting that anger itself is a kind of false urgency, a conviction that the present moment demands your immediate response. The remedy isn't suppression or philosophical forgiveness; it's the humble recognition that time itself works on your behalf, that what feels unbearable at noon often looks manageable by evening. When you delay sending that angry email or confronting someone harshly, you're not avoiding the problem—you're allowing your mind to recover its natural skepticism about whether the offense truly deserves the fire you feel. This is why people often regret their first draft of anything written in rage far more than they regret the careful second version they composed the next morning.