I find incessant, forcibly upbeat positivity positively soul crushing.  Everywhere I look, uplifting words are emblazoned: believe, dream, wish, faith!  I am particularly disheartened by “blessed,” generally because it’s used to punish me for having negative feelings.  For instance, this week I’m experiencing the joy of having to cancel my check card because a scatter brained waitress gave it to someone else and the restaurant has no idea where it went.  I found the idea of my account information floating around in unknown hands alarming and worrisome.  “There’s nothing to worry about!” an associate comforted me.  “In the grand scheme of things, it’s insignificant.  You still have your health!  Really, we’re so blessed, we have nothing to complain about.” 

But…it’s my god given right as an American to complain, loud and often, about whatever I want!  Isn’t that what makes this country great?  It’s not that I’m ungrateful for my good health or good fortune in life.  Truly, I thank my lucky stars.  But I don’t see why the misfortune of others should prevent me from finding things in my own life annoying.  Does the fact that someone has cancer suddenly make being stuck in traffic for three hours not frustrating?  Does it make hearing a customer say the shop I preside over is “junky” less insulting? 

I’ve tried in earnest to go the positive route.  I even read an entire book on positive thinking and toiled daily to implement its suggestions.  The end result?  My complaints took on a new and refreshing zeal (example: “These shoes are hurting my feet, but at least my legs aren’t broken!”  Not sure the sarcasm registers in type, but I assure you it was there.).  My life has been a series of battles between my inner Daria and my outer Deepak Chopra.  Daria always wins because moroseness is apparently in my nature, but Chopra does try, mainly because I want people to like me.  Some people do.  And really, if I believe in the power of my dreams and have faith in my blessed friends, it’ll all work out!