When you come into my house, you will be offered food and drink.  My selection can be limited at times.  I don’t buy soda and rarely keep alcohol at hand.  I usually have almond milk, grapefruit juice, a vast selection of tea both loose and bagged, coffee, and tap water.  I used to get delivered water but the service of the providing company fell below par and I canceled.

As for myself, I prefer a nice cup of something hot.

I’ve never considered myself worth much to the world, and any time I’m offered validation of my failings I snatch upon the evidence and parade it in front of the jury.  Yesterday, a difficult client terminated me (again) and did so in shaky accusatory tones.  Her accusations, though factually unfounded, pushed me to brittle defensiveness.  I reminded myself of every little fault, every muddled stumble, every failure.  I tend to ignore any compliment that I’m ever paid but dwell on the negatives.  I’ve been cautioned many times not to fall into this trap.  My friend Pat says she doesn’t mind my complaining except when it’s about myself; Jenny Rosen shakes her finger at me and tells me that I attract what I am.  Your light draws goodness, shine it!

I started this blog to keep myself accountable in my quest to live complaint-free.  Along the way, life’s peaks and valleys made the journey arduous.  I’ve been told not to talk about myself; that my best writing concerns others.  And I agree, in terms of quality but not necessarily in terms of quest.  It’s impossible to hold a public dialogue aimed to inspire others without waxing personal now and then.

This morning, I reminded myself that every event has at least two perspectives.  I re-read the closing letter which I penned after the client left my office, summarizing the advice that I had given her, the information that I had repeated in our thirty-minute session, the deadlines approaching her, and the procedure which I would follow to withdraw including preparing her file for transfer.  I’ve only had to do this a half-dozen times in thirty-two years.  I remember each of them:  My failures, looming large, dwarfing my successes.

This morning, I’m sipping coffee from a crystal mug and counting my blessings.  In the memorable words of Leonard Hughes, Jr.:  Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.  I woke up this morning, which is more than many people can say.  So let’s get this show started!

 

 

 

 

Note:  Leonard Hughes, Jr. was a judge in Jackson County in the 1980s under whom I served as a city prosecutor.  He died in a car accident twenty years ago not long after he retired from the bench.  He often called me “Madame City Attorney Hot Lips”, (H.L. for short).  I learned a lot from him.  He opened every court session acknowledging his gratitude for waking, before dispensing swift justice with an equal measure of kindness, humor, wisdom, and practicality.