A few Lenten seasons ago, I vowed to give up complaining.
At one point during that Lent, my son Jeremy visited me from college. He asked me what sacrifices I was making for the season.
“I’m trying to quit complaining,” I said. “I’m trying to quite whining. But man, it’s really tough. It’s hard not to complain.”
Jeremy burst into laughter. I was a little slow on the uptake, but then I laughed too as I realized I had complained about how hard I found it to avoid complaint.
At one point during that Lent, my son Jeremy visited me from college. He asked me what sacrifices I was making for the season.
“I’m trying to quit complaining,” I said. “I’m trying to quite whining. But man, it’s really tough. It’s hard not to complain.”
Jeremy burst into laughter. I was a little slow on the uptake, but then I laughed too as I realized I had complained about how hard I found it to avoid complaint.
In The Good News About What’s Bad For You/The Bad News About What’s Good For You, Jeff Wilser makes the point that complaining is a double-edged sword. It is healthy when directed at the responsible party; it is unhealthy when it is directed elsewhere. (Wilser also makes the point throughout his humorous book that moderation is a key to living the good life.)
After a while, my complaining bores me. And let’s face it—our complaining bores others as well. Not too many people really care to hear our complaints. Nor should they. They may offer sympathy, at least at first, but after a while there they stand, barraged by our laments, imprisoned by our complaints while they’re thinking only of what they’re going to eat for lunch or what movie they might watch that evening.
This Lent I am trying again to give up whining. I’ve already failed several times, but as a good priest friend says, when you’re knocked down, you pick yourself up, dust off, and trudge on. So I am trying these days to bite my tongue. (This would taste a lot better with some sort of exotic French sauce.)
Anyway, a few weeks ago in my AP English Literature class, I asked the students to write a free-verse poem, promising as an afterthought that I would join them and come up with one of my own. Several people inspired the poem below, but I aimed the message directly at myself.
Enjoy. And if you have any complaints, please keep them to yourself.
What Would Happen If
you stopped
all that pissing and moaning
about your life
and just got on with the program?
Do you know how your friends
cringe
when you drone on and on
day after day
about how terrible
your life
is?
Buddy, you’re a slap in the face of Joy.
One glance from you would wilt a rose.
Once you declaimed, “Life’s not fair,”
which might be forgivable
in a twelve-year-old.
How God must have laughed.
You curse your luck, shake a fist at the world,
and if you won the lottery--
let’s make it a hundred grand--
you’d be shooting off your mouth
about the taxes and fees.
Can’t you see you’ve locked yourself in a room
without windows
where all you can see are shadows and shades
and where the only sound is that mewling voice
inside your head?
There you sit in your little black hole
day after day,
lamenting your life--
your work,
the bills,
the kids,
your wife.
You believe you are prisoner,
but here’s the kicker:
The door’s locked from the inside
and you’re the only one with the key.
After a while, my complaining bores me. And let’s face it—our complaining bores others as well. Not too many people really care to hear our complaints. Nor should they. They may offer sympathy, at least at first, but after a while there they stand, barraged by our laments, imprisoned by our complaints while they’re thinking only of what they’re going to eat for lunch or what movie they might watch that evening.
This Lent I am trying again to give up whining. I’ve already failed several times, but as a good priest friend says, when you’re knocked down, you pick yourself up, dust off, and trudge on. So I am trying these days to bite my tongue. (This would taste a lot better with some sort of exotic French sauce.)
Anyway, a few weeks ago in my AP English Literature class, I asked the students to write a free-verse poem, promising as an afterthought that I would join them and come up with one of my own. Several people inspired the poem below, but I aimed the message directly at myself.
Enjoy. And if you have any complaints, please keep them to yourself.
What Would Happen If
you stopped
all that pissing and moaning
about your life
and just got on with the program?
Do you know how your friends
cringe
when you drone on and on
day after day
about how terrible
your life
is?
Buddy, you’re a slap in the face of Joy.
One glance from you would wilt a rose.
Once you declaimed, “Life’s not fair,”
which might be forgivable
in a twelve-year-old.
How God must have laughed.
You curse your luck, shake a fist at the world,
and if you won the lottery--
let’s make it a hundred grand--
you’d be shooting off your mouth
about the taxes and fees.
Can’t you see you’ve locked yourself in a room
without windows
where all you can see are shadows and shades
and where the only sound is that mewling voice
inside your head?
There you sit in your little black hole
day after day,
lamenting your life--
your work,
the bills,
the kids,
your wife.
You believe you are prisoner,
but here’s the kicker:
The door’s locked from the inside
and you’re the only one with the key.