No Man is an Island (Especially Right Now)

There’s unexpected solidarity among us right now, and I have to admit, I don’t hate it.

Want to hear something kinda funny? On Ash Wednesday, I decided that I would fast from complaining. I know that’s weird; we’re supposed to fast from seemingly good things that vie for our loyalty — chocolate, Netflix, coffee, Twitter. Complaining isn’t good at any time; shouldn’t that be something to fast from year-round?

Here me out. On Ash Wednesday I was convicted that I had gotten to a place where complaint had become a weird sort-of refuge for me. I’d use it to vent, to “feel human,” to be honest and say whatever was on my mind. I’d save it up for a safe place, of course; I’m not talking about complaining non-stop, dumping it on whoever was the lucky recipient nearest me. It was usually with Kyle, the fortunate guy, or God when I managed to wrap complaint in some sort of cloak of righteous piety.

I’d complain about politics and the general situation at-large, the broken healthcare system, traffic, messes left by the family for me to clean up, people on the internet who had illogical opinions, students who continued to not read instructions, extended family members who continued to make unwise choices, the cost of airline travel, the cost of avocados, children who needed me past my own bedtime, cold weather, hot weather, Instagram influencers, podcasts that rambled for too long, dead authors who rambled for too long, bad coffee, kids who leave on every light in the house, a cat who constantly forgets where his food bowl is even though it’s been in the same place for years, the Sisyphean task of eking out a living from the internet, and more traffic.

You get the gist.