Could It Be We were Meant To Travel By This Road?

Complaining is a good thing, and I’m really good at it. Years of experience. Complaining is good for the soul, and good for clearing one’s head. It’s good to do it in private, with someone you trust deeply. It’s a kind of therapy. Talking about it really helps, especially if someone will listen and offer perspective. Complaining is about seeking explanations and making sense of things.

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How do people get into positions of authority when they’re so dense?

One of the problems we face is understanding why people do what they do. We often complain about the ways people treat us or the stupid things they do. Why would someone do that? What is their problem? It makes no sense. It’s counterproductive. Why are they doing this? Answers I frequently arrive at include the following:

1. They’re stupid.
2. They’re pigheaded.
3. They’re arrogant.
4. They love having power over others.
5. They want to wreck things.
6. They think competent people make them look bad.
7. Did I say they’re stupid?

These answers are often true, of course, especially when referring to politicians and bosses. How do people get into positions of authority when they’re so dense? I don’t come up with many good answers, but it sure feels good to complain about it. Idiots deserve it, and who better to serve it up than me? Anyone? But maybe we should think about switching this around.

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Old Golden Rule

Over the years I developed complaining into a fine art. In the last 20 or so years, however, I’ve worked very hard to add a companion skill. Now, when I see someone who is trying really hard or has gone out of their way to consider or assist others, I take the time to make sure they hear about the good thing they’ve done. Sometimes I can get passed up the line to the supervisor to pass along a positive message and a thank you. If it’s an outdoor crew, it may involve pulling over to the side and making the effort to find the boss. A grateful wave and a mouthed “Thank You!” will often suffice. They’ll notice because people mostly just yell unprintables and flip the bird as they zoom past the speed limit in the construction zone. Consider the alternatives. When the septic tank guy pulls into the driveway it’s all very satisfying to curse the fates that caused the tank to stop working after 30 years of abuse and neglect and chlorine bleach. Even if you had to find the tank and dig down to the opening and figure a way to lift the lid, it could be much worse. You don’t have to put a sand bucket on a string and empty the tank 64 ounces at a time by pouring it into a wheelbarrow to take down the hill to dump into a hazardous waste truck from the county Board of Health. Think what kind of foul mood you’d be in on the third day when it’s only half empty and you’ve already slept two nights in the garage! I swear some of the tanks I’ve peered into would have justified an EPA Superfund Site hazmat crew. So when the truck pulls into the driveway to save you the ordeal of dipping that dreck out by hand, the first thing that ought to come to mind is the happiness of the driver. “Can I get you something to drink? Have you had lunch? Do you like gift certificates from DQ? Would you like to use the hose? It’s hot. Could I fan you while you work? How about some really cold iced tea? Whatever you’re paid, it can’t be enough. Please take this $50 as a little thank you for doing this on short notice.” I especially like to be grateful for kind things people do that they didn’t have to do. The courtesy shown wasn’t in their rules, but they did it anyway. That’s extraordinary. That’s the old fashioned way. It’s the way people used to be when they wanted to be on good terms with their neighbors because they recognized their mutual self-interest. They also did these things because they were very decent people who treated others as they would wish to be treated. A favorite story of this genre came from my family. When my grandfather bought the six acres that included what we always called ‘the house in the hollow,’ the neighbors lived on a little hill just to the west. To purchase the land, my grandfather paid to have a survey line established so it could be recorded with the deed in the court house. The neighbors had sensibly placed their well at the bottom of the hill where it was closer to the water table, installing a pump to push the water uphill to their house. The surveyor came out to mark the lines but discovered that the neighbor’s well was on my grandfather’s side of the property line. When my grandfather saw this, he went to the surveyor and made sure that the property line showed the neighbor’s well on the neighbor’s side of the line. There was no compensation for this act of kindness other than a considerable store of good will between the two neighbors. My grandfather drove a new well closer to his own house, and used it as long as he and my grandmother lived there. He remained fast friends with his neighbor for the remainder of their lives. That’s the old fashioned way. It’s the old Golden Rule thingy.

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What has this life taught me? Who can I share it with?

So maybe it’s time to start looking at the positive possibilities life has frisbeed our direction. Instead of documenting all the uphill bends we’ve encountered along our tiresome way, think of looking for the benefits we’ve accrued, or at least been offered. “Well, that vacation (survival camp stay, surgery, abdominal disturbance, case of poison ivy, etc.) sucked, but it was a real character-building exercise!” “After a month on a desert island at five degrees south of the equator, I think of a glass of warm tap water and an expired packet of saltines to be the equivalent of my lucky day!” “It was tough growing up in the Depression, but we had each other and we were never happier.” “It has been a long journey with much of it uphill, but I couldn’t tell you all the things I’ve learned.” “I’ve had worse. . . . It’s just a flesh wound.” “I wouldn’t trade what we went through for the world.” There are other questions. Who have I met who was memorable? What did I experience that no one gets to do anymore? Am I better off for what I’ve seen or done? Did I ever help anyone along the way? Did I ever pay a little bit forward? Did anyone ever help me along my way? What has this life taught me? Who can I share it with? We kept fighting and we survived, most of us. So here we are. What’s the next right thing to do?

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