Refraining from complaint often comes easier in pleasant surroundings.
From the elegant comfort of Jeanne Foster’s guest bedroom to the casual benevolence, Marimekko fabric and Victorian writing desk of the guest bedroom in the home of Elizabeth Unger-Carlyle, I’ve been well-tended this week. Still, I had to bite my tongue when the breathtaking boldness of someone’s dismissive behavior towards me revealed itself yesterday. I didn’t quite succeed. Paula Kenyon-Vogt sweetly endured more of my disgust than I wanted her to manage.
I lay in bed just after six today, listening to the Brookside songbirds. I’m mere blocks from the home in which I raised my son and which I only recently vacated. I don’t yet have the strength to drive past it, but the rise of the winter trees in this old neighborhood seems welcoming. My brain struggled against sleep nonetheless. The constant refrain of my self-examination hammered against the murky edges of my mind. I finally broached an uneasy truce with myself. I pledged life-changing measures in exchange for a few hours of rest. I sank into slumber, surrendering my doubt, though the certain knowledge of my own proclivities awaited with the sunrise.
I can hear my friend Jeanne clucking over this entry. Along with the rest of my little fan club, she favors cheerful passages. But I do not feel it. I confronted the knowledge of my own inabilities yesterday, including the persistent failure to embrace a true abandonment of lament. My purpose in this effort includes public accountability for my trials as well as praise when I succeed.
So I confess it, again: The month began with gross lapse into complaint. Put aside the fact that the person against whom I protested would likely earn your disdain. It’s the lack of complaint which I’ve intended to embrace. Those who might deserve my outrage must tend to their own betterment. Mine still eludes me but in the famous words of Lucille Johanna Lyons Corley, where life persists, improvement can flow. I intend to forgive myself and start anew. I might not be up to the full measure of the task. I started on 01 January 2014 intending to go a full year without uttering one word of complaint and have not managed to do so for more than a few days at a time. Sad, I know. But not yet forsaken.
The birds have fallen silent, yielding to the grosser sounds of the city. I must push forward. It’s the second day of the fifty-first month of My Year Without Complaining. Life continues.