Grand Re-Opening!
Can't Complain is now open for business
I finally have a title!!
It took me over a year to settle on something. Seriously. And I think that just goes to show how much trauma my brain has been coping with. Also how writing (really any creative pursuit) is a process that needs significant time to blossom.
My “newsletter” is now called Can’t Complain. Turns out there are a few songs with the same name, and an Egyptian movie from 2007, but I’m happy with it, so let the intellectual property police come for me.
I put “newsletter” in scare quotes because I’ve been anxious about that term since I started writing in this space. Will I have enough newsworthy things to say? Do I want to keep writing publicly about personal stuff? Can I sustain the pace of a regular “newletter”?
But, as I started to write, I realized it doesn’t really matter what I call these short pieces. They’re updates on my life—news about what I’m up to—like personal essays. But they’re also just rants sometimes. Other times, they’re info dumps about higher ed or labor issues or just the world in general. So, maybe it’s a “newsletter,” maybe it’s something else…then I remembered my “Can’t Complain” strategy.
About 10 years ago or so, I jokingly decided to start using the phrase “can’t complain” as a scripted answer to the question I dread the most: “how are you?”
The plan was, if someone asked how I was, I would just say “can’t complain.” It’s a socially appropriate response, and it sounds positive. It gave me an automatic answer so I wouldn’t panic and blurt out the truth in the moment. At the same time, it was like a little secret to my self—saying “can’t complain” would allow me to articulate my real feelings in a kind of code. Like, I actually *can’t* complain or you’ll think I’m rude or a downer or intimidating or something, but I really would prefer to complain rather than provide you with some phony version of how #blessed I am.
I know I’m not alone in this feeling. The pressure of social interactions weighs more heavily on some of us. (BTW, all of this connects to my growing suspicion that I’m undiagnosed autistic and/or ADHD, but I digress…WAIT!! Is that because I have ADHD?? STOP IT, WILLIAMS! FOCUS!!)
Anyhoo, for me, the problem has always been that I feel like the good stuff goes without saying. If I’m standing here talking to you, then I’m reasonably ok, right? Clearly, I got out of bed, I probably showered, I’m wearing pants. That baseline degree of wellness is sort of obvious, isn’t it? If I’m totally honest, it feels like bragging for me to recite all the positive stuff in my life. What if you’re suffering? You don’t need me to rub it in, that’s for sure.
My brain processes “how are you?” quite literally. And I tend to assume that, when you ask how I am, you mean the internal stuff that you can’t see, right?
Of course you don’t. At least not most of you. The people I’m closest too are generally willing to go there with me, but it can be a lot for them sometimes too. I’m trying to learn how to lighten up. Still. Always.
You see, what happens is, you ask me that simple question, “how are you?” my every instinct tells me to answer you honestly. The good and the bad. It’s hard to fight the impulse because I actually want to tell you the whole truth, and most of the time, I don’t mind when other people do the same if I ask how they are. I want to connect with other humans based on true feelings—hopes, fears, beliefs, shared trauma. Small talk bores me and I’m not so good at pretending to be interested when I’m not. I’d rather commiserate with you about both of our problems so we can support each other honestly.
That probably sounds like virtual signaling or pretentious intellectualism or something—like, how could I possibly want to talk to acquaintances about their deep pain? I honestly can’t tell you why. All I can say is that it’s the truth. The problem is that there are these social codes that I never really understood and so I’ve always had to figure out strategies for such moments.
Here’s my dream scenario:
Other person: “Oh, hey! How are you?”
Me: “Oh, y’know, most of my friends are coping with dying parents and struggling teenage children, and that makes me feel very lucky, but I’m still not really *enjoying* my life, y’know? It’s a conscious effort most days, but I’m learning some strategies. How about you?”
Other person (sighing with relief): “Oh my god, yes, that’s totally what’s happening with me too! Want to hear about my most recent trauma?”
Me: “TOTES!”
And so on…
I’m guessing I will probably have to keep using answers like “can’t complain" with most folks, but with you, dear reader, I’ll be more honest. When it gets to be too much, just remember that I really can’t complain, but I might anyway.
Ha! This is the perfect title and I know I r been on the receiving end of your “ can’t complain” response!
I know this is not the message of your essay, but you reminded me of one of the most irritating propaganda tools of our ruling class, which too many people have sadly internalized: the anecdote about the person who spent years (or even a lifetime) putting up with atrocious treatment or conditions and yet "never complained." Ah yes, THAT'S the moral of the story! Not the injustice that creates and perpetuates these lousy conditions for too many, but the fact that a person responds to it in a way that ..... what? Doesn't sacrifice their 'dignity' or something? Are we supposed to admire such bullshit stoicism? Clearly we are, and the implication is that one should be ashamed of complaining about suffering and pain. "Be satisfied with your lot in life!"
I always loved the late Barbara Ehrenreich's writing, and one of her best books was "Bright-Sided: How Positive Thinking Is Undermining America," which she wrote after first being diagnosed with breast cancer and coming into close contact with what she calls the "positive thinking ideology," which is the all-purpose, comprehensive version of that anecdote. Ehrenreich's dedication of the book reads:
"To complainers everywhere: Turn up the volume!"
Amen! And I hope you'll do the same.