Every once in a while

I’ve stayed away from my political blog (myeyesarewatchingyou.com) because the nastiness in the world overwhelms me.  It’s hard enough to get through most days without complaining.  I read about the budget slashes, the senseless deaths, the inanities in Washington, the Russian collusion, and a myriad of other evils.  I tell myself, that’s not your problem, and try to slog through my day.  But then the other side of my heart awakens and admonishes me.  It’s all your problem, because, well, even though I’m not a Christian, I can’t help remembering ‘whatever you do to the least of my children’ and all that jazz.

I read an essay years ago about a woman who happily lived alone.  ‘But then once in a while, I come home and check under the beds and in the closets before I make my evening cup of tea, just to make sure.‘  That’s my life.  I rock through the morning, sashay into the afternoon, and chortle all the way home.  I take coffee on my porch and stretch for fifteen minutes before climbing on the stepper.  I fall asleep with a smile on my face.  But every once in a while some realization hits me.  Some startling revelation, global or personal, and I feel like wailing at the wall but I can’t because — gesturing — I promised not to complain.

I remind myself how fortunate I am.  My son didn’t fall to the blast of a terrorist’s bomb.  I own a house and a car and there’s food in the fridge even though it makes me sick most days.  I have a friend who is trying to lose a hundred pounds so shut up already about the last four sitting on your belly, girl.  Then my Facebook feed prompts me to send a friend request to somebody who committed treachery against me; and I holler at my tablet, E tu, Brute?

Life’s like that.  Perhaps these nagging irritations fall into the category of #firstworldproblems, a main reason that I wanted to forswear complaint.  Dwelling on these pesky annoyances impedes my journey to joy.  I strain forward, shouldering the boulder’s harness.  I remind myself of my quest to make it an entire year without complaining, a resolve which I adopted more than three years ago and still have not fulfilled.

But tomorrow’s another day; and I still have Tara; and as God is my witness. . .

Oh wait.  Wrong movie. Exit, smiling.

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




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