On Complaining
"This is so stupid. Why would they make it this way?"
That was me last week. I was putting together a small piece of furniture. It wasn't going well. I was annoyed. I was frustrated. But most of all, I wanted to watch the PGA Championship; I didn't want to build this stupid piece of furniture.
Don’t worry. This isn’t going to turn into a bit of Ikea furniture. “There are no words, I mean, come on!” This piece wasn’t even from there.
I was insufferable. When I get this way, I do one thing: complain. On this day, I started by complaining to my wife. Why? Because she was there.
"One day, when we’re uber-rich, we will never again buy a piece of furniture we must put together."
"I mean, seriously, who designed this?"
"I sure hope you like this when it's done."
Her response? Smile and nod.
Why? Because she is a wise woman who's been married to me for almost twenty years. Also, she knows silence is often the best response when someone is complaining. There was nothing she could say that would help.
When I woke up the next day, I got to thinking. Why do I complain? The furniture incident was not isolated. Complaining could also be added to my LinkedIn profile skills (along with throwing Pity Parties). I’m pretty good at it. It was interesting for me to consider whether or not complaining adds any value to my life.
Did complaining make building the furniture easier? Nope.
Did complaining make the project go faster? Of course not.
Did complaining make my family jump in and help? The only objects I've seen leave a room faster are roaches when I turn on the lights.
Complaining did nothing to help me this weekend (or ever), so why do I do it? This question stumped me, but I’ve forced myself to develop a few answers. I want to warn you the results are not pretty.
One, I want attention. This one is plain and simple and probably accounts for 95% of my complaints. It’s a veiled way to say, “Hey, look at me! I’m doing something hard and sacrificial! I’m special! Look at me!” I shake my head at the YMCA sports leagues and their participation trophies, but when I seek attention through complaining, I’m saying, “Give me a ribbon for doing something I think is difficult.”
Two, I believe talking is a form of work. Ryan Holiday said it well in Ego is the Enemy, "It's a temptation that exists for everyone - for talk and hype to replace action."
When I complain, I’m basically replacing work with talk. Talking isn’t work unless I'm teaching (or recording a podcast). Talk is talk. Talk is cheap. Talk is a distraction. Talk is the illusion of progress. Talk is like being stuck in a traffic jam on the highway and getting so frustrated with the slow speed that you exit the highway and take the side roads. It gives you the illusion of progress, but in the end, you show up at your destination 15 minutes later and use 10% more fuel.
Work is work. Action is action. If I don't like my work, I start to complain to give myself a break. Complaining is like checking email or LinkedIn instead of doing what I must do.
Some days, I want to be like the humans at the end of the movie WALL-E. Zero effort. All easy. Constant fun. If I don't get that. I complain.
Three, I like playing the role of martyr. If something is hard and I need help, the best action is to be vulnerable and ask for help. In my best moments, I do that. I need more "best moments" in my life.
This is similar to #1, but also different. My desire for attention is like a sugar craving. It's temporarily satisfying, but I'll want more later.
My desire to play the role of a martyr is an identity. If I believe I'm a martyr who regularly suffers for others, I can justify my laziness in the future. "I can totally sit here and watch the Rangers game right now while she cleans up dinner because, you know, I built that stupid piece of furniture last week." Not good.
Complaining is the opposite of responsibility. For me, that's the bottom line. My desire to be responsible and my love of complaining can't live under the same roof. One of them must go. Here’s to hoping I can begin to talk less and work more.