How complaining Offends

AARON HASS Ph.D

I KNOW A UROLOGIST A MUTUAL FRIEND. DURING THE 1990s, before the explosion of HMOs, and when many physicians were at their earning power peak, he had an annual income in the high six figures. In more recent years, he has averaged about three hundred thousand dollars. Since the "leaner" ear began, it seems as though every time I run into him at my friend's house, he is holding court about the injustices of the marketplace. "Physicians can't make a decent living now. It's no fun anymore. They're making it impossible for us."Wherever he starts in, I walk away.

I want to be polite, but his remarks are just too unseemly, too insensitive. They reflect such a complete lack of recognition of those who must truly struggle. They indicate this urologist's narrow focus. They imply an absolute failure to identify with humanity, those of us who are mere mortals.

"I've got my own problems is an often voiced sentiment to justify self-absorption. Indeed, everyone has their pekele, everyone has bur-dens –financial straits, sickness, emotions that paralyze, unreasonably demanding loved ones, catastrophic fears , uncontrollable compulsions, physical handicaps, a bitter marriage, family members on drugs, children who are painfully  insecure, or bosses who torment them. But have you noticed, as I have, that oftentimes it is those carrying the greatest personal load who are also the most forthcoming in their offer of assistance to the needy? These individuals are overwhelmed.  However, their sense of duty compels them to care for others as well as "their own."

What can keep us from complaining?  perspective.

Unfortunately, it often takes illness to produce that perspective, to formulate that necessary question, What's really important? For most of life's obstacles, it is useful to remind myself, "This too, shall pass."

I get crazed about ant's. Periodically, I wake up in the morning to an ant infestations in our house. Thousands of ants in the pantry, in the closets,and under the sink. Sometimes I can't even see where they are coming from. I feel that my life is out of my control. I go nuts. It helps when my wife, Rebecca, points out, "Honey, it's ants. it's not cancer."

          Don't misunderstand me. I am all for talking about personal concerns with others who care. When I am in psychological or physical pain, I need someone to listen, to sympathize, and perhaps provide guidance. But gratuitous complaining obscures for all of us what is really important in life. In the case of my urologist acquaintance, his complaints of financial hardship produce a divide between him and the ninety-five percent of average individuals. "That's a hard ship?" we gasp incredulously.