Sniveling About Snivelers
Those who do not complain are never pitied.
-- Jane Austen
Life seems to have thrown a lot of situations at me recently where I find myself in the company of complainers. Not critics, criticism addresses external rottenness, and constructive criticism contains its own solution. Complaining, on the other hand, is the "it's all about me" version of what's crummy, the detailing of personal woes.
Complaining has many dimensions, often positive. There is the amusing complaint -- P.J. O'Roarke, for example, has written entire books collecting rants and snivels (e.g. Holidays In Hell) that leave me writhing with hilarity. There are times when it is only human and forgivable to air grievances (loss of loved ones, intractable pain), and the venting helps the venter, and can form a link with the listener that helps lead out of the intolerable situation. Misery does indeed love company, and sometimes having a friend in the same rotten place lifts you both up. Most admirable is the shout of outrage that is downright necessary as a first step to rectifying the situation. Thank God for cranky people who are all about righting wrongs. That is complaint with a backbone, complaint as action, and action is the key word.
Then there are those who find whining to be a viable lifestyle, the passive snivelers. I react about as well to their company as a hypochondriac enjoys being trapped in an elevator with a group of end-stage Ebola patients. The experience is almost physically painful to me.
Mind you, I am by nature a sympathetic person, believe it or not. The milk of human kindness flows by the quart in my every vein. Honestly, the reason is selfish. I love looking for a way to alleviate the situation. I'm an annoying Pollyanna, the Martha Stewart of the Solution. I have about 10 or 15 minutes' worth of "Awww, I'm so sorry" in me, and then I reflexively start volunteering positivism.
Unfortunately, The Passive Sniveler resents any suggestion of a way out, a silver lining, because a) it requires action and b) would rob him or her of the opportunity for future complaining. After opening window after window for these people to clear the stench of negativity, and then seeing each window slammed shut with replies that all begin with the word "but" ("...but you don't understaaaaaaaaaaaand", "but that won't wooooooooooork", "but it's so haaaaaaaaaaard...") as the conversation circles relentlessly back to the negative, I experience empathy burnout in a big way. What I really experience, deep down in my loving, sympathetic Christian heart, is the urge to slap them silly. Why people would work so doggone hard to stay in that mode baffles me.
In the past few months, I had a minor insight that helps me avoid inflicting assault and insult on the devotedly downtrodden. These are people that, as a masochist has learned to process pain as pleasure, have learned to experience pity as love. The sorrier a spectacle they present, and the greater the sympathy they attract, the more secure and worthy they feel. It is utterly counterintuitive to me, but I can, at an intellectual level at least, now understand the pathology. That insight helps engender pity for the twisted thinking underlying the verbalized complaint, a pity that has some purpose. It's the only way to avoid being sucked hollow by the bottomless neediness of the terminally pitiful.
Imagine WANTING to be the poster child for pity. I'd rather be dipped in leeches.
I recognize the Catch-22 inherent in raising the topic of my annoyance with whiners. I could easily join the sorry ranks. Fortunately, most of these situations have an escape hatch: change the channel, hang up the phone, make polite excuses and vacate the premises. With ingenuity, I'm getting better at avoiding or curtailing these toxic encounters.
When it's unavoidable, I cover my ears and shout "Lalalalalalala", at least mentally. I settle a consoling expression on my mug while nodding rhythmically, and fix my mind on a pleasant memory (Dmitri Hvorostovsky holding my hand, gazing into my eyes while lying, "Of course I remember you!" is a favorite) or a diverting fantasy. Hopefully, one that does not include giving the complainer Something To Really Complain About.
I mention this because I have been avoiding an Old Dear Friend of eons past because she has, seemingly permanently, settled into this pattern. I nearly ended our friendship years ago when, during her 10-year self imposed sentence of marriage to an asshole of unbelievable proportions, she would regularly bait me by dangling tales of hair-raising emotional cruelty and abuse at the hands of her reprehensible mate. She then waited for my explosion of outrage and "I hope you gave him what-for," or some other suggestion that she demonstrate the possession of a spine, and then she retreated hastily with all my pity tucked away safely while pushing away any thought of change or relief with both hands.
Now, this is not a woman without resources. This is a brilliant and sensitive woman with great responsibility and prestige in her career, who juggles millions of dollars in the corporate world without breaking a sweat, who is, herself, in the profession of Working Things Out. I am not a fair-weather friend -- I actually, with full calculation, introduced her to her current replacement husband who worships the ground she walks on. They appear to have a blissful union. Yet life remains a vale of tears in every other respect, and at this point her woes are our only topic of discussion. Another attribute of these people is their complete disinterest in anyone else's experience, good or bad. These aren't the folks to call when one finds oneself in foul weather -- they not only don't offer an umbrella, they snatch yours. I finally returned a call today as a test, radiated nothing but sunshine, never was heard a discouraging word from my lips. If anything, things are worse with her. I'm done. I've stuck with her for nearly 30 years, over obstacles both geographic and emotional, and I feel physically depleted after our conversations. The door is not shut, it is never shut to those I love, but I will no longer volunteer for this toxicity. If and when, like the groundhog, I poke my nose out and see no shadow, we can rejoice and reestablish something that looks more like friendship and less of a pity party.
Having a solution, a backbone, sometimes means that I have to take my own advice.
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