grumpy about inspiring inspirational inspirations

Thank goodness all the hubbub of New Year’s resolutions has finally died down. The worst thing about the New Year celebration is the vague inspirational one-liners that float ’round the web as people make implausible resolutions. That fluff is always present, but it surges hard for a couple weeks in January, pushing itself into my consciousness like a properly aimed gust of wind bringing me the foul, pestilential stench of an out-of-sight port-a-potty from down the street. I should just plug my nose and go on about my business, but I can’t stop myself from sniffing, spurred on by the unanswered question in my mind: does this shit really help anybody?

This year I spent way too much time on Facebook, scrolling through screen after screen of upbeat one-liners pasted onto images of cute animals and back-lit tree-scapes. And sometimes psychedelic images, which is even better. I eventually managed to get a handle on my dry-heaving and hari-kari-miming, and then I remembered that Marci Shimoff inspired me to own my grumpy by trying to fill my soul with chicken shit so that I could be happy for no reason.

Sorry, slip of the tongue — it was chicken soup she was selling, wasn’t it. Catchy.

Anyway, Marci’s an uber-master of irritating and meaningless one-liners.”Plug into presence.” “Forget the coffee, try a morning cup of connection.” “Feel your feelings.”

Just… Bite me. There’s an inspiring one-liner for you.

It is hard to top Marci’s mastery of the vacuous uplifting quote, but that’s not stopping humanity from trying. Here are some of the lines that crossed my path this year and got my grumpy aura glowing wildly.

Wait. An apologetic before I continue: I know what’s coming is going to sound and seem hostile and, well… It is. Sometimes I have a lot of hostility toward peeps who pour on the random upbeat, positive, can-do crap. I’m too cynical for that. I can’t look at the miseries of life and say, gee, this isn’t so bad, it’s all in my head, blah blah blah. I guess that helps some people. Not me. I’d rather look at the fire I’m walking through and scream “THIS SUUUUUCKS” and come out the other side thankful to be alive, relieved my burns aren’t so bad (i.e., I’m not dead), and grateful if there’s anyone there to help me. See? I’m optimistic and upbeat. I just want my upbeat a certain way. Reality-based and very specific.

Right, so here’s my grumpy list of useless inspiring inspirational inspirations:

ACCEPT YOURSELF. (flowers and sunrises)

But what if I’m an asshole? I don’t think I should accept that at all. In fact, I think the root of change is exactly the opposite of acceptance. DON’T accept yourself. Maybe forgive yourself for being an asshole, and then stop being an asshole by whatever means are available to you — therapy, self-flagellation, confession, meditation, charitable work, whatever it takes.

I get it. Don’t beat yourself up for those extra pounds, don’t look in the mirror and hate on yourself, and so on. But if that’s what the one-liner is getting at, then it should say so. “Accept the things about yourself that are acceptable.”

Dr. Abrams, Jesse’s therapist, has this incredible approach to her self-loathing. When she tells him she’s hating on herself for something she’s done, he typically answers, “Well why don’t you change the things that are making you dislike yourself?” Aha, and duh, and why didn’t I think of that. You want to make a new year’s resolution that matters? Don’t accept yourself. Identify the ways you suck, and then try to fix them.

LIVE, LAUGH, LOVE. (rainbows and trees)

I have an admission to make. I bought a box at Michaels that said these three words on the cover, even though this alliterative word string drives me crazy. In my defense, I bought the box because it was on super-sale and just the right size I needed for some Christmas ornaments and it wasn’t a totally hideous color. Otherwise, honestly. Please don’t ever tell me to live, laugh, love and expect me to be moved in any way. I DO live. I’m doing it RIGHT NOW. Still doing it.

Still. Living.

Miraculously, living just happens to us while we’re alive.

If you mean to tell me to live a certain way, to experience life more fully or something like that, then say so. Jeez. Why be so cryptic?

As for laughing and loving — well, shit, that’s a pretty big directive. If a person is having trouble laughing and loving, there might be some significant problems going on, like maybe her life sucks, or maybe she’s depressed or has some issues. Maybe she isn’t well served by a superficial directive that says, in essence, go stop sucking.

But I guess it’s not as inspiring to put this quote on a picture of a sunrise. “If you’re unhappy and lonely, and you have trouble connecting to people, seek help. Therapy is a good option.”

MAKE IT GREAT.

Make WHAT great, asshole? I know, I know, whatever I’m doing. Well what if I’m taking a dump, or wiping my 5-year-old son’s ass after he takes a dump? Do I really need to make that great? Can’t I just survive it and move on?

I INSPIRE.

I followed a silly-looking link one day to a website whose tag line was “I inspire.” Wow. You INSPIRE? That’s hubris. And very broad. The person who wrote that inspired me to leave his website immediately.

I’ll tell you what inspires me. When people DO inspirational things. Yes, MLK Jr said many inspiring things, but they would have been empty tripe if he hadn’t acted. He inspires me by virtue of what he did, not because he told me he’s going to inspire me. I have a friend who just ran her first marathon and she’s almost 50. I’m inspired. And she didn’t even tell me she was inspiring me. Oh wait. She wasn’t trying to inspire me, in her own mind. She was just running a marathon! Still totally inspiring.

And now I’ve written and said that word enough times that it looks and sounds funny. Inspire. Inspired. Inspiring. Inspiration.

LIVE EACH DAY LIKE IT WAS YOUR LAST.

Worst. Advice. Ever. As Anthony-the-economist put it, this advice tells you to discount the future by exactly 100%. That’s just stupid.

If I lived each day like it was my last, I would never do any of the following things. Wash clothes or dishes. Clean the house. Take my kids to school or the dentist. Make healthy meals. Take a shower. Read a book. Exercise. Take my blood pressure meds. Care about anything. Instead I’d spend every day fighting off bitter, angry tears over my imminent demise. I’d cling desperately to my children (I’m talking physically) until they got freaked out and ran away from me. I would live a raw, insane existence.

Come to think of it, sometimes I do live like this. Huh.

(Extended awkward moment of silence while I think about what the hell I’m doing with my life.)

I’m back. Sorry about that. Anyway, I beg you, DO NOT live each day like it was your last, even if this inspiring phrase and the beautiful sunset photo accompanying it come through your Facebook feed. I don’t think it’ll turn out well.

MAKE A DIFFERENCE.

Awww, come ON. This stupid one-liner was in a list of things you allegedly need to do before you turn 50, or something like that. It’s just empty nonsense. Adolf Hitler, Osama bin Laden, Charles Manson and Timothy McVeigh made a difference.

You want me to make a difference? Point me in the right direction. I’d rather make NO difference than an evil, life-destroying difference. Incomplete advice like this might just create the next Darth Vader.

DONE IS THE ENGINE OF MORE.

Uuuuuugh. My head just flopped backwards at a 90-degree angle. My tongue fell out of my mouth. And nooo, it’s not because of the margarita I’m drinking. Here’s all I need to say to the person who tells me “Done is the engine of more”:  fuck you.

TRUTHS ABOUT SUFFERING.

This isn’t a one-liner but an inspire-you list someone posted to Facebook, so I’m going a little off-message — but bear with me. A fellow named Jeff Foster apparently wrote some “truths” about suffering. He says things like this. “Circumstances cannot make us suffer… You could probably boil all of your suffering down to this: ‘I want to control this moment but I cannot.'”

Yeah. Tell that to victims of violence, of torture, of war, of famine, of cancer, of all manner of disasters and vicious diseases. I bet most of them disagree.

This guy also talks about “innocent energy clouds.” Oooooh (eyebrows up). I’m crossing the street when I see Jeff Foster walking down the sidewalk toward me, because otherwise I will want to sock him square in the face and tell him this. Jeff, my friend, you are a complete asshole and a thoughtless lout. Circumstances CAN make us suffer, even when we know we can’t control the shit that’s happening. I have a neighbor whose young son was in the ICU for days with whole-body staph-like infections. There were question marks. It was horrible and scary, and those circumstances made her family suffer. I have a friend suffering from a brutal auto-immune skin condition that makes him experience pain like a burn victim, and the treatments have been awful and it’s all very difficult. His suffering is circumstantial and REAL. Even if he accepts that he can’t control the moment, he will continue to suffer until his condition is brought under control.

Can these folks survive what’s going on with grace and acceptance? Of course, and they are. But not with platitudes and false one-liners. They are struggling, fighting to find a path that brings light and hope into their lives. I love them for it. I love them for sharing their suffering and their needs and their journeys, without faking like they’re okie-dokie.

I mean, I get it. If you’re talking to first-worlders who bitch and moan about their opulent lives without having any real trouble to speak of — say, first-worlders who are, I don’t know, grumpy for no reason — then making the point that we, I mean, they shouldn’t be “suffering” is great, because really, we have it good. And I guess it doesn’t work to paste the following one-liner over a picture of a happy polar bear mommy rolling in a snowy bank with her two cubs: “Get over it. Your life doesn’t suck.”

* * * * *

I understand that I’m probably outside the mainstream. Some people need these one-liners to cope with tough moments. But it doesn’t work for me. If you want to inspire this grumpy girl, you’ll need to get really specific and really plain-spoken. Like this:

Have you looked in the mirror lately? (motivation) Get a haircut.  (inspirational directive)

You smell bad. (motivation) Go take a shower right now. (inspirational directive) (Anthony uses this one on me regularly. It works every time – I go straight to the shower.)

You don’t help other people enough. Go volunteer some time for a charitable cause.

You’re really grumpy.  But it’s okay, I still like you. (See? I told you I was an optimist.)

* * * *

Now that I’ve gotten all that off my chest, I’m realizing what a downer I am. I need to change. I need to see myself a new way. I will imagine a different me. This year, I’m going to start over. Because every day is a new day. Every day is the beginning of the rest of my life. And I have the power. I am the master of my feelings. Love can lift me up. Acceptance can bring me closer to happiness. I can make a difference. I just need to smile a little more, because everyone smiles in the same language.

I haven’t been grumpy. Just depressed. Whatever.

For the past few weeks I’ve been sinking into a funk. Superficially I blame Jesse, and also sometimes Nick, but I know it’s really just me. Jesse’s anxiety and PITA syndrome have been in a healthy UP cycle for a good month. It’s a whole lot of emotion management. She lashes out at me a lot, whines a lot, beats up on herself a lot, complains about things from all sides, churns little blips into major issues. It’s all “a lot.” Nick is always A LOT, even when he’s on an even keel (for him). When they’re together with me, they yell over each other constantly to get my attention so I can’t make out anything they’re saying, and even when they’re getting along (which I admit is most of the time) they’re just crazy people. So it only takes a moment for me to reach some serious sensory overload.

I could share anecdotes and stupid stories, but honestly, who cares, because all I’m really saying is this: it’s just the same old boring shit. When I deal with Jesse’s bursts of negativity these days, I feel a combination of bored, bleak, and blank. I’m going through the motions: feed the kids, put on a fake cheerful attitude for other moms, play with the kids (yawn), get my exercise, pick up and drop off the kids here and there, read some news, homework, blah blah blah. What I’m feeling inside is a vague need to escape. I found myself yesterday fantasizing about what my life would be like right now, at 47, if I had never had kids or a partner. Would I be a partner in a law firm instead of a partner to a human? Rich as Roosevelt, socking away bucks for old age, my wardrobe and hair well-attended, a secretary to send my mom flowers on various occasions?

It’s a lame thing to imagine, of course, because it’s just exactly what I rejected, a path that would have been filled with loneliness and long hours and extreme stress. So I think it speaks to a sort of sub-clinical depression. Rationally, I know I’ve been down this road often, most plainly when I began working hard on emotional self-control a few years ago with Jesse. My first order of business when we started taking her to a shrink was to stop losing my shit and screaming at my family. I struggled with it for a few months and felt like I was succeeding, but Anthony eventually confronted me with a big problem. The exorcism was not going as well as I thought. It seemed I had a binary switch: insane rage or sullen bleak depression. This bothered Anthony. I was angry and defensive when he brought it up. It’s all I’ve got, I told him. It’s the best I can do. I’m emptying myself of emotions so I don’t feel anything at all, and that’s how I stop the yelling. I thought that’s what everyone wanted. I don’t have anything positive to fill the chasm my rage usually fills. How come what I’m doing isn’t good enough for you? How come nothing I do is good enough?

When I was done feeling sorry for myself, I took heed of Anthony’s words – spoken in compassion and perhaps fear, not in recrimination — and eventually I was able to work on a more constructive mood, along the lines of calm but not blank, an open space where my mind can think about the problem confronting me, without self judgment, and evaluate whether I can add positive sense or whether I should walk away for a spell. Oftentimes, I can actually find my way there.

But when I get like I’ve been the last few weeks, I’m back at sullen. I don’t know what it is about Jesse that’s so exhausting for the adults around her. I don’t have answers, but I have a lot of fears and I’ve been out of ideas for the next evolution. I also haven’t felt the warmth I need to help her overcome whatever hurdle is lurking in her heart right now, which I’m sure she intuits. I haven’t had a sense of humor about it all, which is essential to survival in my world. I haven’t even felt grumpy, and I’ve had no desire to write and share my vapid thoughts with the 20 or 30 folks who read my dribble. This is really bad.

Stick a fork in my ass and turn me over; I’m done. I’ve been attending my pity party for weeks now and I’m pretty tired of myself. A couple days ago a song came on the radio, and there’s nothing better than a good pop song to break a cycle. “Let’s Be Still,” recorded by The Head and The Heart, brought it on. I listened to that tune and the lyrics, and it broke a dam inside me with an easy sigh and no tears. First it made me laugh, because of course I thought, hey, it’s another mommy song! I’m always asking my kids to be still. But it took me someplace else too. All the hours I spend  trying to own the emotional status of my kids, to spy out the path of their lives, to love them and live with them peacefully and fully — it’s all too much. Living in the moments and small battles, I forget that I have to slow down my racing thoughts and just be still for a moment. Also the song and its band remind me of a lot of music I listened to in a less complicated time in my life, with hints of the Beatles, VU, Mazzy Star and even Tiny Lights. It’s all good, I thought to myself. We’ll make it. It’s not that complicated.