Quiten bitchen

Friday, Feb. 26, 2016

The other day I had lunch with a friend at a restaurant he chose. Halfway through the meal, he asked how I liked the huevos rancheros that I’d ordered.

Without thinking, I said, “I should have asked them to cook the eggs hard.”

My friend’s face fell; he was really enjoying his Rueben sandwich, and I could tell he wanted my food to be as good, especially because he’d recommended the restaurant.

Here’s the thing: I really did like my meal. It was a perfect balance of egg to beans to salsa, and the flavors were well blended and tasty.

So why, when my friend asked, did I respond with the sole criticism that I had?

I then praised the meal, but the damage was done. I’ll bet, if you asked my friend, he’d say I didn’t like it, even though I enjoyed it immensely.

Reflecting on that experience, I realize that I find fault with almost everything. Take yesterday, for example. I packed my gym bag – and left it sitting on the bedroom floor. I did remember to bring my lunch, but forgot to put in a fork. You would think, after the countless times I’ve made my lunch, I’d remember to include an eating utensil, and that I’d make sure my gym bag was with me on Mondays, which are workout days.

“I’m so stupid,” says the voice inside my head.

But the voice doesn’t say what I did right: I got up on time, had a healthy breakfast and drove to work without causing an accident or breaking any traffic laws. (I almost succeeded in not cussing out other drivers, but I got behind some yo-yo who decided to drive 60 miles an hour on the freeway, and I couldn’t get around him because cars were passing on both sides going 70, which is the speed limit on that stretch of road, a fact that the person in front of me chose to ignore, to my frustration. And thereby blew one of my Lenten resolutions, which is to gracefully accept the things I cannot change.)

There I go again with the criticism. Yup, I had some unkind thoughts about that particular driver, but I caught myself, and the majority of the commute I prayed the rosary. 

Why is it so hard to focus on the good, when there’s more of that than the bad? 

It’s not just me. We are a critical society. Listen to the conversations around you. Can you go five minutes without hearing unnecessary criticism?

Frankly, I don’t want to hear it any more, not from myself, and not from my friends and family. It’s no fun, and what, exactly, is the proper response? A reciprocal recitation of woes in commiseration?

I seem to be in good company with this reaction. Way back in the 19th century, St. Macarius of Optina said, “Watch out for complaining. It only makes situations worse and increases sorrows.”

(A friend posted that on Facebook just today. I no longer believe such things are coincidence.)

Also, as has been my wont recently when in search of a new approach to life, I turned to the Bible, and found: “In all circumstances give thanks, for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus.” (1Thess 5:18)

Now, if Paul could recommend that despite being persecuted, whipped and incarcerated, who am I to complain about the petty details in my life? So, thank you, God, for everything.