***This post is not about writing, though it is directly related.***
Why is it so easy to complain?
Complaining takes zero effort. In fact, it takes immeasurable effort not to complain. When I attempt to not complain my jaw starts to ache, my stomach becomes a trash-compactor, and I usually develop some form of a nervous tick. It's instinctual; something terrible, frustrating, confusing, hurtful, or inconvenient happens and what's the first thing I do? Complain. I could be gushing blood because I rammed my shin into that damn drawer that secretly inches its way out overnight, and even before digging out the peroxide, Neosporin, and band-aids, I will make the time to stop, find something with ears (animals suffice when a human is not present) and proceed to tell them what horrible thing just happened to me. And then I will complain because I don't have the right size band-aids. Just those little circle ones. And I don't want those band-aids; I want the rectangular ones with the little ventilation holes so my skin can breathe and the fatal wound heals properly. The circle ones are pointless. Who gets a circular injury!? Name one time anyone has received a laceration that was in the shape of a cheerio. Why are they even here!? Who put the freakin' ugly, dumb, COMPLETELY LAME circle band-aids in MY variety pack?!?! Who did it!???!!!
Sorry . . .
Here are some of the things I have complained about in the last twenty minutes.
1. My automatic coffee heater is not getting my coffee as hot as I would like it. I may need to walk seven feet to the other automatic device that heats my food and beverages for me.
2. I'm hot.
3. I'm cold.
4. My new book just arrived and the edges are crumpled. I didn't pay Amazon $11.84 for them to do a shotty job packaging my book.
5. I can't think of a number five answer. This is so frustrating and ridiculous. I should be able to think of a number five answer.
6. I'm trying to write this amazing blogpost and my mother-in-law has the T.V loud enough for people three streets over to hear.
Right. So now that you've had a look into my brilliant mind, you see what I mean. Now . . . I understand that you may have legitimate complaint-worthy grievances. May I ask you something? Do you feel better after complaining about them? Are you full of joy, light, and positivity after telling a few people how much your back hurts, how you haven't slept in four days, haven't pooped in six days, can't pay your bills, there are no jobs left in America, your child has decided that your stupid and he knows everything, your friends are too busy or not interested in your life, your boyfriend likes blondes with nice legs and you are a brunette with varicose veins. I don't know about you, but chronicling all the things that bother me leaves me more agitated, disgruntled, and negative than the actual thing that caused my rant in the first place.
Undoubtedly, there are some right now poo-pooing this. You have engaged in defensive-denial-mode. The shields are up, and the brows are lowered. I'm completely wrong and I have no idea what I'm talking about. Well . . .you have my permission to leave my blog and visit this one here:
Anyone still here? Okay good. So here is my advice: (I give you permission to keep me accountable to following it) Stop complaining. Instead of focusing on all the injustices against you, keeping record of every ailment or bothersome issue, focus on what you do have. Who you have. I assure you, it's more than most. Need a reminder that your life really isn't all that bad. I couldn't even copy and paste this without crying.