Seriously, What Are We Complaining About?

Try muttering good things instead.

Years ago, while I was cleaning my kitchen, I heard my grandmother talking to herself.

It really wasn’t possible since she had been gone for years.

Although sometimes I smell cigarette smoke when no one is around, I think, “Hey, maybe Mimi is watching over me.”

But on that day, I heard her voice.

Mimi was amazing in many ways. She was full of life, energetic, and protective of her grandchildren.

But, like the rest of us, she had her flaws, and one of them was keeping a running complaint under her breath about the maintenance of life.

That’s what I heard that day. Complaining.

I heard her complaining about the dishes, the cleaning, and the wash. The problem was that it was not her voice doing the talking. It was mine.

What I wanted to be doing was sitting in the chair by the fire, reading or writing the book I wanted to finish, or drawing another illustration. Anything other than doing house or life maintenance.

I was complaining, just as I had heard Mimi do while I was growing up, and I remembered how uncomfortable it made me.

So, I stopped complaining. But I still felt annoyed.

Then I heard the words in my head from Henry David Thoreau, “To affect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts.”

Well, I was affecting the quality of the day, but it wasn’t in terms of the highest of arts.

In the middle of the many tasks it takes for our lives to run smoothly, don't we all ask ourselves why we have to do them when we would rather do things we love to do?

Maybe we have more important things to do, like work on world peace.

Of course, if we can’t, or won’t, stop complaining about what we have to do now, will we do what must be done to have world peace?

I'm sure peace begins within, with minor details and one step at a time, just like house and life maintenance.

The trick about all this is to remind myself that what appears to be daily tasks does not differ from the things I want to do.

One task is not more important than another. It’s not the task—it’s how we do it.

I love writing, dancing, and illustrating with the qualities of simplicity, elegance, boldness, and clarity in mind as both the process and the outcome.

I love bringing attention to the fact that all that we see is the presence of the Divine.

Except, I keep forgetting to include house and life maintenance.

Ah ha, I had to admit that I was not walking my talk.

I had forgotten about the idea of sacred soapsuds—all things being part of the whole. If I love clarity, elegance, boldness, and simplicity, then I could do house and life maintenance within those terms, too.

“What about time?” was my next complaint.

How can I do all those “artistic” things I love to do while still taking care of the things of daily life?

That meant I had to stop thinking as if time is linear, which it is not.

In fact, as Eckhart Tolle said, “Time isn’t precious at all—because it is an illusion.”

I had run out of excuses. It was time to make an Intent for myself. Make one that I could hold as a beacon for the rest of my life.

Make daily life an art. Be a life artist.

As often happens, the birds helped. They had been away for a while. I decided they had been on a bird cruise and had recently returned.

Two Carolina wrens, one of my favorite birds with their beautiful song, upturned tail, and lovely coloring, came to my office door and sang a little song to remind me that their entire life is about maintenance, and yet, they live their daily life as art.

In fact, none of nature complains about daily maintenance. The squirrels play while gathering food. The trees provide for us without groaning.

Every quality of the Divine is evident in every moment of life.

Life isn’t about something to get through. Life is something to celebrate, no matter how big a task or how mundane a task we must perform.

Forget the importance. Forget fame. It is part of our personal lives, or it is not.

But, as we live life as art, everything falls into place with clarity, boldness, simplicity, and beauty.

I can still talk to myself the way I always have.

But I do my best not to mutter complaints. Instead, I talk about celebration.

I’m carrying on an old tradition in a new way. I’m sure my grandmother would approve.