Do you consider yourself lucky? How about fortunate? Blessed?
If you use one of those phrases with any frequency, in my opinion you’re doing it right. By “it” I mean, life.
I am the complainingest complainer who ever complained (Hi, Chad!) and as I told a co-worker today, I worry that catastrophe will follow me because it pretty much does. Of course, my catastrophes are not really bad at all. A little West Nile Virus, pneumonia, meningitis, antibiotic-resistant infection, concussion, congenital heart disease, or threat of pulmonary embolism never hurt anyone. Wait.
But, despite my ailments or those of my son, I consider myself to be a fortunate person. I have great relatives, I married into a family of wonderful people, I have terrific friends, decent health, a job and co-workers I love, a great community – I could go on and on.
Do I have bad days? Yes. Every day has me facing something lousy and I DO complain about it. No sleep, sick kids, no money, car repairs, the stuff we all deal with on a day-to-day basis – and “stuff” is putting it lightly. Or non-cussingly, if you will. Maybe venting helps me deal with what life throws at me. Maybe keeping the little things bottled up would make my anxiety worse.
I think crying is therapeutic, I know my workouts are the best thing I’ve ever done for my mental state, and I’m pretty sure complaining helps me think through my issues. Zoloft doesn’t hurt, either.
Even though I have to do all of those things to keep my mind right, I still tell myself how lucky I am Every. Single. Day.
Because I’m pretty sure the greatest way to straighten out your head is to be grateful that you still have one.