Griping Your Way to Gratitude
by Juliet Funt
I have a beloved colleague named Mike Robbins who is making a wonderful mark in the speaking industry with two fabulous books and an ever-increasing following. He is also a dream of a guy, with a sharp, lovely wife, two sweet little girls and a seemingly ceaseless attitude of gratitude. The cherry on top of the sundae is that Mike is real. He is human and flawed and shares that with his readers. He is not in any way dismissive or Pollyannaish about what’s tough in the world, but as the author of a book called Focus on the Good Stuff, his mission in life is clearly centered around building the army of the half-fulls. When you call Mike’s office or cell phone, you will hear a voicemail greeting that ends with “…and tell me something that you are grateful for.”
For years of our friendship I have tried to be a first-row student and share something that makes me feel thankful, however small, along with the content of my message. Sometimes it does make me feel good, but often it really just makes me feel guilty. The call for gratitude becomes one more demand teetering comically on the pinnacle of my mental tower of obligations. Like posters promoting vegetables or January coupons for the gym, this well-meaning call to action ends up having some discouraging side effects.
From Oprah to Mike to Deepak Chopra, the most oft-proffered advice to the spiritually seeking is to make gratitude lists. We can leave one on Mike’s machine. We can make a list of three before our head hits the pillow. We can keep gratitude journals and gratitude scrapbooks and even celebrate an annual gratitude holiday—which, when not eclipsed by bingeing and football, can certainly change us for the better.
But when I am particularly depleted, the idea of coming up with my gratefuls is just one more thing that feels impossible. Furthermore, my deep belief in the power of these habits makes me feel even worse for not gushing easily about my gorgeous children, my talented, patient husband, my health and my fortunate career.
Alexander the Great conquered Persia when he was 26. For many of us now, it’s a good day when we can garner the motivation to put the peanut butter away after making a sandwich. We are overwhelmed. We are exhausted. The average American has a sleep debt (the cumulative amount of sleep his or her body is behind) of 335 hours, and a full 10 percent of the U.S. population is currently on prescription antidepressants. And as if that reality needed topping in any way, the current economic and employment climate is, for many people, the test of a lifetime. “They” tell us to pick up gratitude, but where in our empty cupboards are we supposed to find it?
In addition, on a personal front, I am a New York Jew. Complaining is a custom of my people. Not only is it in my blood to bring a dose of sarcasm and griping to the party, but I actually find selective crankiness freeing in a profound way. It’s as if, for a few moments, the mantle of striving is lifted. Letting some pessimism rip can be a heartwarming moment in which we take a break from being good and mindful and our best selves. And most importantly, when the grumbling and self-pity end, we often actually feel a more genuine surge of energy than the one we were trying to manufacture. It has been my experience over and over that after I am heard and witnessed in what is difficult, gratitude can finally flow with more authenticity.
But if we are going to take the risk of venting the dark before appreciating the light, we need to follow some important guidelines:
- Vent to only one person at a time, and make it good. Griping over and over about what’s hard in your life does not promote catharsis but rather cements into us the mental picture of the pain and the pressure.
- If the complaining is work-related, do it on two levels: Take one pass to get the story and the feelings out. Then make the next round “Constructive Complaining,” which means bringing your problem only to a person who can do something about it.
- Make sure to vent emotion as well as content. We live in a world where texting and email have stripped our conversations down to bare bones. The habit of communicating only the briefest thoughts is becoming hardwired. But brevity does not provide the same release as can be had by telling the rest of the story. Try sentences beginning with “I feel” or “I wish.”
Luckily, my dear friend Mike is a person who can understand everything I have just written. He is the kind of expert who never lets go of being human en route to his ideals. It is my Thanksgiving wish that every one of you can find such a friend—a safe vessel you can occasionally fill to the brim with all that weighs you down. These wonderful folks heal us with attentiveness and empathy. They take a little of the burden with them when they go. And in the quietness that is left, we do have room to feel truly grateful.
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