A month ago, the hardest task in my quest to live complaint-free involved not complaining about myself.  But my attitude about myself turned a couple of clicks towards true north.  Now I look around me and see people with control issues; folks who speak in judgmental language; and struggles for supremacy in every-day human interaction.  These folks challenge my resolve to use nonviolent communication and my determination to abandon complaint.

I’ve made a list of the words of judgment and control which I least like. The top five:

1. Idiot / Idiotic
2. Moron / moronic
3. “What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?”
4. “That’s got to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”
5. “I’ve just about had it with you.”

When I am exasperated, I find myself tempted to use a variation of number five.  If the feeling rises in my chest, I try to sequester myself until the urge  passes.  I don’t fool anyone, but if I can control my temper long enough to avoid an outburst, I leave room for regrouping.  If I can’t, I return to the scene of the crime and try to talk rationally afterwards, explaining that I did not mean to judge; that I had simply lost my way; and then I turn to the facts at hand and try to work through the problem.

That’s me.  That’s what I’m trying to do. But that’s not what today’s entry concerns.

Listen:  I realize the whole world has not decided to give up complaining.  Believe me, my mission would be far simpler if I had ample company.  But when I stand in the doorway of someone’s office and listen to them rant about the idiot on the other end of a slammed receiver, I long to  spin on my heel and rapidly retreat.

I’ve been that person — the person who screams on the phone, demanding redress.  Rage satisfies like alcohol: quickly and superficially.  Rage spreads like the plague.  I’ve spewed visciousness, regurgitating its putrid bile.  I understand the allure.

Like the reformed smoker, I can barely stand to be around the smell of judgment.  I gag; I want to run.  I would far prefer to practice peace in solitude than to live among the angry bearing a joyful countenance.

That dilemma confronts me today.  How do I keep moving forward in my quest to live complaint-free, when society prides itself on moral condemnation?  

I have some guidance.  Marshall Rosenberg addressed this obstacle to practicing nonviolent communication.  I greedily re-read his works. I pace in my room, my office, talking to myself, giving myself encouragement.   I listen to people explaining why we have to do things their way and understand the need behind their controlling demands.  I empathize; I’ve been that person.  I am that person.  She lives in me; I have just allowed her strengths to soothe her weaknesses; I’ve tried to calm her fears.  I understand.

But I still struggle with the faces of anger which I encounter every day.

I spent yesterday in a conference room at the Remington Nature Center in St. Joseph, Missouri, listening to Rotarians talk about being a gift to the world.  Tears rose to my eyes and nearly spilled down my cheeks when our District’s coordinator of the Shoes for Orphan Souls project led us in the roll call for each club’s contribution to this year’s campaign.  District 6040, which includes the Kansas City metro area and northern Missouri, collected 17,000 pairs of new shoes this year.  Seventeen thousand children in orphanages in Guatemala will receive a new pair of shoes.  Seventeen thousand.

I have said this before now, but I’ll repeat it:

It’s hard to be bitter when you walk with the angels.

It’s the first day of the twenty-ninth month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.