I opened Facebook on my iPad and posed a quandary: I want this restaurant to make it because our neighborhood needs more. Should I tell the proprietor about my experience? I know most people don’t welcome critique. Should I bother?
The verdict from my small slice of the Facebook universe was to tell him. Otherwise, as one put it, “how will he know?”
OK, that makes sense. Yet, still I hesitated. Not because I dreaded a confrontation — I live in Manhattan, after all, where confrontation is a way of life. I also know firsthand how cruel it is to withhold information that a person could use to improve their performance.
Why did I hesitate? I think I am tired of all the whining I hear. Ours has become a culture of whining, and I didn’t want to be part of it.
People bristle at the slightest discomfort or shortcoming. If they don’t get their way, they lash out. If the line is too long, the traffic too slow or the elevator too full, they whine.
People stand in the grocery aisle surrounded by enough food to feed many villages and whine about the lack of one specific product. People whine about bosses, colleagues, and the unidentified “they.”
In the techno-blogger world, people whine about the new Microsoft operating system, a minor change in the iPhone screen size, or Timeline on Facebook.
Religious people whine about other points of view. The pope is whining about nuns. Right-wing Christians whine about uppity women. In left-wing circles, the elderly whine about change and losing control to younger constituents.
In politics, everybody is whining. What a farce our campaigns have become. Attack trolls spot the slightest off-word and pounce in instant outrage, as if the nation were being invaded.
In a store, one uber-mom was whining to her son about the price of camp equipment. A daughter was whining to her dad.
Do we all feel that helpless? Is our addiction to control so granular that we cannot tolerate anything out of order?
As I reflected on my weariness with whining, eight Russian tourists entered and filled the restaurant with noise. It dawned on me that we are a crowded breed. Living in congested cities and suburbs, driving congested highways, seeking work in a crowded marketplace, under assault by advertisements and bright lights, our privacy is made marketable and our interests are manipulated.
Yes, in some ways we are helpless. The greedy will not rest until they have pillaged our entire culture. We are indeed not in control. In a way, our childlike whining makes sense, because we are being treated as wayward children, not as responsible adults capable of making our own decisions.
As the song says, if there be peace, let it begin with me. I don’t have to like all that I see. I can choose not to feel threatened by a world beyond my control. I can choose to tolerate. I can choose to make room for others. Getting my way won’t improve the situation, nor will it improve my life.
In short, I don’t have to whine.
I did tell the proprietor about the coffee and cold meal. I told him I wanted him to succeed and thought this information would help. He was grateful. He said the hotel next door sends many Eastern European guests for breakfast, and they prefer weak coffee.
“I will make a cappuccino for you next time,” he said.
— Tom Ehrich is a writer, church consultant and Episcopal priest based in New York. He is the author of “Just Wondering, Jesus” and founder of the Church Wellness Project. His website is www.morningwalkmedia.com. Follow Tom on Twitter @tomehrich.
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