My son dislikes memes — or so he has said.  He laughs at Twitter snippets, writes comedy, and hand-writes Thoreau quotes on my Mother’s Day cards, but he dislikes memes.

As for myself, I read nearly everything that passes before my eyes, from cereal boxes (when I ate cereal) to billboards. I collect book titles, potential card verses, and strings of lyrical phrases.  I adore language.

Memes speak to me in ways that often provide comfort, though such soothing might be both small and cold.  Today’s inspiration told me, “People only notice the one thing you don’t do; they overlook the four hundred things you’ve done.”  Oh man oh man! Bingo!  Exactly.  Can’t you hear it now: “You never. . .” whines your child, your spouse, your boss.  Rarely do you hear, “You always. . . .” tendered with a joyous smile.  Seldom do you hear a litany of thanks for the myriad of little lights and flowers that you’ve strewn in their paths to guide their way.

I don’t complain about ingratitude anymore though.  I found a different way to handle my dismay.  I make a silent, private list of all  that I have accomplished on behalf of the person condemning my one remission.  I close my eyes and review that list in silent contemplation.  Then I forgive myself for the single oversight; open my eyes; smile; and ask how I can help, now, in this moment, the precise second when they claim my failure has sentenced me to the eternal loss of their good regard and them to certain doom.  If they claim “too little, too late” and walk away, I smile and nod.  Later, when I wonder what happened. I tell myself, Life.  Life happened.

When someone exits from my life because I did not behave as they demanded of me, I will no longer castigate myself.  Instead, I resolve that with the next person, I will try to understand them and do what I can to meet their needs.  But if I cannot, again, I will accept myself. I will judge neither the complainer nor myself.  No matter how harshly I am judged by others, I will continue to feel good about myself provided that I honor my own values and my beliefs as to how I want to treat people.

It’s the fourth day of the twenty-ninth month of My Year Without Complaining.  I dedicate this entry to Paula Caplan, that she might believe in herself.  Mazel tov, my friend.  Life continues.