I pooh pooh daily gratitude exercises. Much as I pooh pooh daily anything—other than daily coffee. I don’t want to be fenced into a routine. Especially one that forces me to write down what I’m grateful for. As if I can’t remember the 3 - 5 things that make my life the wonderful adventure it currently is.
But I have to say, watching the news and thinking about other people’s lives; watching documentaries about people trying to flee their country (insert favorite screwed-up locale here) in search of a better life; hearing about people with life-threatening illnesses—and most of all, people allergic to all tree nuts—I get a little choked up and smack myself on the forehead.
“Hey idiot!” I tell myself, “You have ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to complain about—DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!”
(This is usually done in a Robert DeNiro voice—akin to his Taxi Driver persona.)
I mean, really…what in the bloody hell do I have to complain about? And yet…and yet…I do it all the time.
Yes, folks. I’m a “Chronic Complainer.” A Class A Kvetcher.
A Ninja Bitcher.
It is amazing to me how many items I can tack onto my master complaining list.
And then review them constantly.
Some days, NOTHING makes me happy.
Then other days, like today—my wife’s birthday—I’m filled with more gratitude than diet soda is filled with cancer-causing artificial sweeteners.
So if you hear or read about me complaining, know it’s just a façade. A way to have fun.
Though I do have one complaint:
We all need to have more fun.
If we did this, we might be happier.
Fun even through the hardships.
The trip only lasts so long.
Then it’s back to the great yogurt factory in the sky; or under the ground; or somewhere out in deep space.
(Or maybe we just turn to mold on a stale loaf of random bread…)
Speaking of yogurt, why do they have to put so much sugar in the flavored ones?
I’m trying to limit my sugar intake. And these damn yogurts are sweeter than a candy bar from hell…
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