Whinging makes it worse
I hate it when people complain.
So much, in fact, that I recently surreptitiously pinned pictures of adorable kittens on a colleague’s wall in the hope that the cuteness would abate her incessant daily whinging.
(Sadly, the plan didn’t work. I think she may have been too busy complaining to notice the pics)
The irony of whinging about whinging is not lost on me. Nor is the fact that I’m often guilty of the very misdemeanor that I myself abhor. But there it is. The hypocritical bane of my existence.
To be fair, we all have things that give us the irrits. For some, it’s the audiovisual display of a poorly sealed oral cavity mid-mastication. For others, the arrangement of bodies on an escalator in a random left-right scattering, leaving no option for a passing lane.
For me though, it’s complaining that takes the irritation cake.
I think it annoys me for the same reasons as why we giggle at objectively horrendous jokes when others are roaring with laughter, and why we leak uncontrollably from the eyeballs when other people tear up.
We humans are intrinsically empathetic beings. And as such, we’re basically programmed to absorb the emotion and energy from our surrounds; negative energy being the most contagious of all.
Of course, usually when we gripe, we’re so caught up in venting our frustration that we neglect to consider the infectious nature of negativity. After all, that would require both insight and consideration; traits which both basically bugger off out the window when we’re pissed off.
Worse still, rather than making us feel better, airing grievances (without seeking an actual resolution) actually makes us feel worse.
The once popular concept of catharsis as a therapeutic technique has been basically binned by modern-day psychologists after they realised that whinging about stuff pretty much just helps us to (a) validate our exaggerated outrage and (b) keep ruminating on it for way too long.
Bizarrely, it seems that bottling up our bitching is actually better.
Then of course there’s the #firstworldproblem nature of most of our discontent.
Think about it. When the really bad sh*t happens, we don’t complain. When loved ones get cancer, when wars break out and when sadistic dictators mow down their civilian populations with machine guns, we might feel distraught or even angry. But we don’t whine about it.
No, the whinge is unique in its exclusive reserve for problems that aren’t really problems. For the transient annoyances that impede the otherwise smooth, easy comfort of our lives.
For example. Personally, so far this week I have grumbled about:
- People driving too slowly
- People not RSVP-ing to my party, and
- Having to make a second trip to the local supermarket because I forgot the milk.
Like I said — really earth-shattering stuff.
So in the interests of combating hypocrisy and reducing my personal negative energy output, this week I’m going to try something different.
When things rub me up the wrong way or don’t go to plan, I’m going to try to keep my mouth shut.
And just see what happens.
