I have been going through some old posts and it seems I complain a lot. Now I'm not apologizing for that - complaining seems to be the one thing I do well ever since my omelet flipping skills deteriorated, but I'm sure that someone out there, having stumbled across a random whining session of mine, must be asking "why does he think he is in any position to complain?"
Let me be clear. I am not talking about a person who asked "Why should I care about his complaints?" You shouldn't. I can serve as a cautionary tale or a source of amusement, but you are under no obligation to care one whit about what bothers me. Feel free to go to a different blog and read about someone else's complaints. Or just type about:blank in your navigation pane and stare at an empty screen. I'm not writing this for you.
I am talking about the person who says "there are so many people with real problems and here you go ranting about trivialities! why don't you appreciate what you have?" OK, point taken. I do lead a relatively charmed life and I appreciate it as such. I have my health, a great family and a house; I know that this puts me square on the happy side of the line, but still I complain.
I complained about being on a cruise when god knows how many people can't afford to go on a cruise. I complained about the kosher foor when my ancestors would have killed for the convenience of pre-packaged kosher food, and poor people worldwide would have happily eaten anything I was served and said "thank you" instead of complaining that it tasted like undercooked shoes. So what makes me thing that I should complain?
I guess the answer is that unhappiness finds its level. Do those same people who tell me I should appreciate everything tell people who complain about being mugged "at least you had something worth stealing" or people who get hit by a bus "at least you live in an industrialized society with forms of mass transit"? I think not. We are all entitled to feel entitled sometimes as long as the line is reasonable and we whine within the context of knowing that, on the whole, we have it pretty good, but there is always room for dissatisfaction. So I will continue to complain, continue to point out how the world has destroyed my hopes and dreams, and continue to know that I have it pretty good. You can choose to read or not read. To wallow in your own sadness or laugh along with me at mine.
I'm still dizzy, my foot hurts, my job is a pain and I can't find one of my pairs of glasses. Come along for the ride, won't you?