Sometimes, I have a tendency to bitch and moan too much.
Sometimes, I wonder how much that bitching and moaning bothers those I subject it
to. Sometimes, I wonder if the things I’m bitching and moaning about are even worth
bitching and moaning about. Sometimes, I wonder what I could do that would be a
better alternative to the bitching and moaning. Sometimes, I wonder how much of
what I consider to be “constructive criticism” is actually bitching and
moaning. Sometimes, I think I bitch and moan because I just like to bitch and
moan. Sometimes, I think the bitching and moaning leaves me feeling worse.
Without a doubt, I don’t believe all the bitching and
moaning I do is over frivolous, inconsequential matters. In fact, I like to
think a good percentage of the things I voice my disapproval about are worth
the effort and deserve the attention. I realize there are things I should let
go and probably don’t need to offer up my 2 cents about, but more often than
not I hope I bitch and moan about worthwhile things. I’m not the kind of guy who
is going to go on and on about the bad service he just got in a restaurant. I’ve
got bigger worries. Plus, I’m eating food. A lot of people don’t have that
basic luxury. I’m not the kind of guy who is going to ask to see a manager or
supervisor. I’m not someone who is going on for days about how much the weather
sucks or how I got shortchanged at Christmas or any other crap that reeks of
entitlement. We live in a privileged country that by birthright grants most of
us incredible advantages. Why bitch about annoyances and nuisances. It only perpetuates
that which annoyed you in the first place.
No, what I like to bitch and moan about is those who bitch and
moan about the annoyances and nuisances. I like to bitch and moan about those
who can’t recognize the entitlement they’ve been born into. I have a feeling I
take such pleasure because it gives me a sense of superiority, which in its own
right is a complete crock and reprehensible. This is a weakness I know, yet
take joy nevertheless.
Take yesterday, for example, when I crossed paths with a
family arriving at the same ice cream shop as were at but in a big, fat, gas-guzzling
SUV. Bad enough they were traveling via environmental deathtrap. That I could
look past. What was impossible to not notice was the fact that they left the
fricking big rig running, with the air conditioner on, with no one inside,
while they all piled out into a FLIPPIN’ ICE CREAM SHOP! Are you kidding me! Did
they not see the obvious joke they were making themselves the punch line for? I
guess braving the elements upon existing the ICE CREAM SHOP armed with a fat
hunk of ICE CREAM scooped up in a fat bowl was too strenuous. It’s this kind of
moronic crap that sets me off and sets my mouth into motion, only to leave me
wondering later, does anyone even care? Did I accomplish anything other than
bugging the people around me? “Oh great, there he goes again.” Maybe I care,
but does anyone else give a crap that these people are likely the same who bitch
and moan about gas prices?
Maybe I’m just bitter? Am I just too good at spotting stupid
stuff? Am I too sensitive? Do I seek this stuff out? I honestly don’t know.
Sometimes, I think this stuff finds me just to torment me. Like later in the day,
for example, when I randomly picked a seat in the bleachers at the gym my
daughter was playing basketball in. I was waiting for her game to start, so I
sat and watched the one being played before hers. Fate could have opened up a
seat anywhere, but it didn’t. It made the only available seat right in the
middle of a pack of wild mother-dogs way too eager to bite and snarl and bitch
and moan about every call that didn’t go in favor of their little momma’s boys
on the court. Worse was the conduct they saved for a girl playing on one of the
two boys teams on the court made up of eighth graders. The girl was good. In
fact, she was damn good. She was smart and smooth. She played with composure.
She knew where to be and what to do. She made her teammates better. Everything
you’d want in a player, she provided. You’d think these women being women would
have been thrilled. Here’s a girl more than holding her own among bigger and
taller boys. Here’s a girl performing with grace and dignity and doing it with
terrific results. Here’s a girl taking all the borderline cheap shots these insecure,
petty momma boys on the court were doling out and ignored them to just continue
producing at the highest level. But no. These women bath-mouthed this girl at
every turn. They derided her. They questioned her femininity. They took delight
when she was knocked down. They bitched and moaned when she bested their precious
little boys. “How dare she!”
Enter my mouth. First subtly, but then progressively with
more vitriol and condemnation, to the point that by the end of the game I was
opening quarreling with said wolf pack, holding them back with a stick and
swatting them on the end of the nose. I took tremendous pleasure in it all—until
later when I was left alone with only my thoughts. I had lowered myself. I had reduced
myself to levels I didn’t need to go. I took the lower road when the higher
road would have been better to conduct myself on. I welcomed the confrontation
and took joy in participating in it. That girl didn’t need me to defend her
from these attackers. She had already moved beyond them long, long ago. She had
already elevated herself to a place where they didn’t affect her. She was far
more mature and focused than any of us. She didn’t bitch and moan. She just
lived in the moment she was in.
Christ, anyone who says you can’t learn by just observing
something or someone is crazy. Anyone who says you can’t learn from children is
blind. Anyone who doesn’t believe in chance encounters isn't paying attention.
I probably won’t stop bitching and moaning anytime soon about
those who bitch and moan. But this girl, whose name I don’t know and whose
background I’m clueless about, taught me more about bitching and moaning
through her actions and conduct and spirit than I could have ever hoped for.
Something is at work in this world. Something helped me pay attention and
recognize the affect a perfect stranger can have. Somehow, someway, this girl inspired
me to be a better person. To stop bitching and moaning and instead influence
change through personal conduct, not condemnation. I have a feeling I won’t be
the only one to witness the same type of dignity and class and perseverance from
this girl and walk away better for it.
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