Complaints & Drama
Ah! The tantalizing invitation to complain...my aches and pains, the cost of insurance-gas-cigarettes, the problems with the cable company, car issues, my boss-kids-spouse...all I ask is that you let me tell you my tale of woe. And when I see you next, I'll update you on everything that's wrong. Won't that be fun?
I bet I can get my complain-o-meter needle to go higher than yours...let me tell you about what a victim I am. Oh god. Please don't. Please stop the madness of racing to the victim position. And for all that is holy, if you hear me doing this, yell, "STOP!"
I've been noticing lately that my tolerance for listening to others complain is waning. I don't mean clients, because we've got a contract. Whatever issue they bring forth, even if it's in the form of a complaint, is placed in the field to be worked with. I respect that.
The crazy maker for me? Encountering those who believe their complaining is interesting. Now, I'll be the first to admit that I do my share. I complain about Nordstrom and Whole Foods (I hate both of those stores, and only under duress and out of love for my husband, Mark, will I occasionally throw myself on that retail sword). I complain about the cold and that Verizon never, ever sends us an accurate invoice. In the past, my laundry list was far longer (oh, that reminds me, I sometimes complain about doing my laundry or getting ready for the house cleaner). And as I listen to those around me doing the same, I cringe. "Oh god, that's me. I do that."
Today, though, I proclaim to you, "I refuse to stake my flag on Mount Victim." It's absurd to lay claim to that position again and again. I'm not talking about pretending I don't feel angry, sad, and afraid. I give myself permission to feel ALL of my emotions. But listening to the inner terrorists, who come up with the reasons I feel these things (in the form of complaints), that's just an old habit. You, inner terrorists, you guys are on notice!
Button Poetry author, Rudy Francisco, has this to say about complaining.
I live such an incredibly privileged life, my complaints are tedious, even to me. Your life may be different. You may wish for a relationship or job you don't have. You may not be able to afford lunch, or heat, or car repairs. I experienced every one of those, so I genuinely empathize. It's a hard road. What's funny, though, those I meet on that kind of a rocky path, tend to be so grateful for what they do have. There is an authentic appreciation that washes through, and it's quite lovely to behold. It's this extraordinary reminder to me, that what I find fault with, while real for me, has my attention diverted from what matters. My feelings matter. The stories I tell myself about them...not so much.
A couple of weeks ago, I had a cast removed from my arm, and then walked across the hall to meet with a physical therapist. As the PT gathered materials to prepare my splint, she said, "You look great. Which arm did you break?" I laughed, and told her. As I continued to fill out her paperwork, she asked, "What happened?"
"I fell," I replied.
"Did you fall on the ice?"
"No, on my way to a fabulous market in Cape Town." Still, she wanted details.
Her probing yielded the story of my amazing arm that, despite breaking, kept me from cracking my head on a tall curb more seriously than I did. Her interrogation led to me explain that I passed out about 15 minutes after my tumble, and my husband played super-hero by catching me and preventing further injury. I shared about the fellow market patrons, who ran for help, and the attentive first aid staff, who made sure I was properly hydrated, and no longer shocky, while also getting my (apparently sprained) wrist iced.
"When did all of this happen during your trip?" asked the therapist.
"Exactly half way through. So, I was really lucky that we'd just entered the relaxation part...not the volunteer part."
With a kind of bafflement in her tone, she replied, "Well, you sound really positive about the whole thing."
Did she NOT just hear how incredibly lucky I was again and again? I was in South Africa. I didn't get a concussion. Lots of people, Mark most of all, helped me. It could have been so much worse. What on earth would I gripe about?
Twelve days post-hitting the bricks, I learned that I had a transverse fracture of my radius. For eleven days, I wore no brace or ace bandage, and I still totally enjoyed my holiday! I asked for lots of help with the things I couldn't do...like slicing the most delicious bread I've ever had in my life (from that same Cape Town market, pictured above). I felt, and still feel, incredibly grateful that it wasn't worse.
Reflecting on the questions and reactions of so many over the past two months, I realized, complaining is a kind of cultural addiction. And, when it gets lonely, it phones a close friend: DRAMA!
Even when I attempted to keep to the most basic facts: I fell and broke my arm. That wasn't interesting enough for many in my audience. I wish I could tell you that I didn't get caught up in the madness, but I did and do, day to day. Even for all the things I feel grateful for in my life, I manage to pepper my existence with acknowledgement of annoyances. Yet, I somehow keenly perceived during my holiday, and in these following weeks, that this accident, while absurdly noticeable, was the least interesting part of my trip. And, I've made conscious efforts to focus on the aspects that matter. So, here's my current working prescription to abate complaining:
Crowd out the complaints with more gratitude. What's working? What do I appreciate? What has improved that I can see and be thankful for? The more energy I put there, the less time and space I've got for complaining.
Is there an emotion I'm trying to avoid feeling? When I notice myself complaining, I check in, "What am I actually feeling now?" And then I attend to whatever emotion is present. This act of self-love goes a long way!
If I don't like something, change something. A few weeks ago, I was invited to attend a business dinner with my husband and two of his clients (who are good friends of ours). Business dinners hold no appeal for me, so instead of complaining, I simply said "no." In doing so, I changed the game.
If it's not within my personal power to change, I make a request for change. My husband likes to twirl the lamp that stands beside his favorite chair in the living room. Often, this results in a lopsided lamp, which drives me nuts. Finally, instead of complaining about the crooked lamp, I simply asked, "Would you be willing to stop playing with the lamp, please?" He agreed, and efforts to leave the lamp alone, out of respect for my request. If he'd told me "no," which is totally within his right, I'd probably move lamps around, so that the one near his chair is not subject to this issue (employing strategy #3)
Last, but not least, I'm asking for help. I got lots and LOTS of practice being vulnerable and asking for help over the past eight weeks! So, if you hear me complaining or leaning into drama, I give you permission to call me on it, because that ain't sexy!
If you think you never complain, you may want to check your humanity membership, because I think it's part of what we do, until we don't. Sometimes, we complain to connect, particularly if that was the language of impact in our family of origin. Other times, we may complain as a defense, to keep people at bay. And, if neither fits for you, it could just be an old habit that has no current value. In any case, maybe now is a good time to check in to see if this behavior fits who you want to be.
Is this how you wish to enter the world? If so, go for it! I may not want to sit at your table at lunch, but that's probably because you're reflecting the part of me that I'm still working on accepting. And with that loving acceptance, I create space to morph into the me I believe resides within. I may still visit Mount Victim, but I choose not to build my castle there.
With love and gratitude,
Joanne Lutz