My teenage son and I had just come in from shoveling snow – for the millionth time.
“So much snow!” I said. “And it never stops! I’ve never seen such a winter!”
“We’ve got more snow than they have in Russia, at the Winter Olympics!” exclaimed my son. “How is that even possible?”
“I wish I knew,” I answered. “My knees and back hurt from all the shoveling, and my wrists are sore from hacking at ice. I just hate this weather! When will it stop?”
“Now, Mom,” said my high-school student. “Remember what you keep telling me? Nothing lasts forever, it’s got to end one of these days.”
“I just hope I’m still alive when that day comes. Watch out, you’re tracking salt in from the sidewalk, and it’s ruining the wooden floors.”
“I don’t suppose you’ll let me get some practice snow-driving?”
“Not unless you have an extra vehicle, so you can learn how to break an axle, driving into a pothole. I swear there are some of them out there big enough to swallow the car, whole!”
“What a lot of complaining is going on,” said my husband, coming away from the stove. We hadn’t let him shovel, so he was making soup, instead. “Wasn’t it you, Judy, who said too many people complain about too many things, too much of the time?” He gave the soup a stir before tasting a bit of it.
“I was talking about other people. I’m not a complainer – am I?”
My beloved spit out his soup. It must have been too hot.
It’s just all this snow!” I exclaimed. “I’ll be back to my usual, cheerful self once the snow is gone.” At this point, my son and husband took turns in a high-pitched voice, imitating someone whose complaints they seemed to know all too well:
“I hate all this rain! When will it stop?”
“… it’s making the woodwork warp…”
“…and you keep tracking mud on the floor…”
“And there’s so much pollen everywhere, my allergies are going crazy! I can’t wait till it’s summer.”
“That’s right,” I interrupt them. “When it’s finally summer, I won’t complain!”
“Are you kidding?” said my husband. He returned to the falsetto: “I hate that I have to wear sunblock just to go out in the yard…”
“…and everything needs weeding,” continued our son.
“…and I’m sweating all over my clean clothes…”
“And where is my hat?” they finished together.
“What are you saying?” I ask my husband. “I try to be upbeat and cheerful, I really do. But I can’t pretend nothing bothers me when it isn’t true.”
“Why don’t you take a look at this,” he said. “It came in the mail the other day.”
It was a book: “A Complaint Free World”, by Will Bowen. Right on the cover, Bowen dares you to “Take the 21-day Challenge.”
The book comes with a purple wristband. Apparently, the goal is to go 21 days without uttering a complaint. If (or when) you do, you have to switch the band to the other wrist and start over.
Apparently, some people take more than a year to get to 21 complaint-free days.
I stared hard at my life’s partner. Then it came to me – the perfect question! “Are you saying I complain too much?” If he agreed, then I would have him, dead to rights – he’d be complaining, too!
But the twinkle in his eye told me he’d thought of that. “I just think you might be happier if you give this thing a try.”
“Which of us will be happier?” I wanted to know. “If it renders me speechless, I mean.”
“Oh, I would definitely miss you. Complaints and all.” And he gave me a kiss.
So, I decided to read the book later, after I went back outdoors for another round of hand-to-hand combat with the snow and ice. The high-schooler and I are traveling in a few days, to visit some colleges, and we want to leave the sidewalk and driveway as clear as we can before departing.
When we are finally done, I have just enough energy to swallow some soup and fall into bed. I push the book across to my spouse. “I think you should try this out, first, yourself.”
“Oh, I won’t be needing that. I’ve got my Complaint-Free World ready and waiting.”
“What, in the next life?”
“No, right here – while you’re away.”
Funny guy. I’d complain about him, but then I’d have to switch my wristband.
