The fine art of whining

Recently I read an article about a man who was a lawyer, an author, and a TikTok star. He’d been confined to an iron lung since he was six.

…I’d just been about to take two Advil…

He wrote his book with a pencil in his mouth.

…For a slight headache…

He practiced law for 30 years, teaching himself to breathe on his own for minutes, then eventually a few hours. But always he needed to get back to “his friend and his enemy,” the iron lung.

…I forgot about the headache.

And what’s even more mystifying is the man was grateful. To someone who was depressed he often said: “Life is such an extraordinary thing. Just hold on. It’s going to get better.”

Inspiring words, you would think…Then the cable goes out.

That’s the damn thing about people like that. They don’t really stop people like me from whining about absolutely nothing. Not full on Lear-like rants. Not even flashes of bad temper. But just an ongoing cranky internal monologue. You know the quote, “God only gives us what we can handle…. “ Noooo!!!”

Luckily my husband is as much of a whiner as I am. In less than an hour he’ll scroll through a long list of grievances. “…I had to sit on the phone waiting for over twenty-five… Would you believe there’s another bloody pothole? Oh no! Do we really have to go out tonight? Well, who made that stupid arrangement? Me? What was I thinking? Even before we’ve walked through the door of a restaurant I can hear him grousing, must they play that music so loud? A view he will soon express audibly to the manager.

My mother, on the other hand, never whined. She merely expressed her grievance with a silence that was ear-shattering. Crosses were born with a quiet resignation that was deafening. By the way, so was disapproval.  Punishments were a raised eyebrow. But let me tell you that raised eyebrow packed a mighty punch.

And yet cynic that I am, I can’t help but wonder if everyone doesn’t occasionally bellyache. Even that saint in an iron lung must have had a few moans every now and then. After all, jolly old Santa Claus sometimes brings a lump of coal. And don’t you wonder if Superman, as he steps into the phone box, mutters to himself, “Damn, and I was just about to get to second base with Lois Lane.” If Achilles didn’t ever throw up his hands and say “Ouch! I think I’ll sit this battle out?” Or take for example, Nobel Prize Laureate Malala, as she’s getting dressed. Don’t you suspect that she sometimes opines, “Those darn head scarves makes my scalp itch.” Or how about the Buddha?  Or Mother Teresa? Come on, even the Tooth Fairy must once in a while think, “Yuck, did no one ever teach you about a toothbrush?”

The question is why, when life is pretty good, I and probably most other people find themselves grousing. For instance: You just closed a deal and someone asks you, “How’s business?” You pause, looking heavenward then nod fatalistically. “Could be better.” Is it a hold-over from the old folk ways? A method of warding off the evil eye, like spitting three times or wearing a red ribbon. After all if you look too happy then the bad fairy will put a curse on you. Just look at what happened to poor Sleeping Beauty. Sure, she finally got the prince in the end, but as we all know….

I’m thinking maybe it’s something more. Take for example sitting down and making a loud whining “Oof!” (Or if you’re Jewish, Oy) But while that may be a complaint, it’s similar to the sound you make when at last taking off a pair of very tight shoes. A rush of happiness. So maybe contained within that whining when the loud music finally is stopped or the pothole fixed or the interminable call at last answered is the thrill of contentment. Maybe without the pain you wouldn’t recognize the sheer pleasure of relief.

Or is that just rationalizing?

TURNING POINTS from Crowd-Writing

a book by Shelley Katz

Out Now