The Day I Stopped Complaining
My New Year’s resolution is to stop complaining for one whole year.
Not just out loud, but also in my own head. That’s the real battlefield. And let me tell you—it’s f*cking hard. I had no idea how often I complain until I actually made a commitment to stop. It turns out, my mind is a subtle, sneaky complainer. Today, for example, I caught myself silently judging people on Facebook for complaining about global leaders or ex-lovers. The irony? I was complaining about them complaining.
The moment made me laugh, but also left me reflecting. I wasted three minutes of precious life force wrapped in mental judgment. Three minutes of blind resistance I’ll never get back. Gone—lost in the winds of discontentment.
When did this habit take root so deeply? I’ve always seen myself as a positive person. But today, while gazing at the mountains behind my home, I found myself wondering: why do we humans spend so much time focusing on what’s wrong with the world rather than what's beautiful and awe-inspiring? Why are we so neurologically hooked on the negative?
To be clear, I’m not suggesting we ignore real problems or pretend everything is fine. But I am noticing that every time I complain—whether it’s about a person, a system, or a tangerine—something contracts in me. A subtle kind of tension. A quiet internal struggle. It doesn’t serve me. It doesn’t make me feel empowered. It certainly doesn’t elevate anyone else.
Why would I willingly trade 60 seconds of peace of mind for a mental tantrum that helps no one? Why give up my creativity, my energy, and my clarity just to affirm that something is wrong?
This resolution is revealing just how much time I’ve spent in low-grade dissatisfaction—complaining, judging, resisting what is. I started wondering today if I’ve ever made it through a full 24 hours without a single complaint. I'm honestly not sure. Is it even possible?
Right now, as I type this, I’m peeling a tangerine. It’s dry. Hard as a rock. Not sweet at all. And I catch myself wanting to throw it across the room, take it back to the store, or at least wallow in the injustice of buying a terrible fruit. But the truth is: the tangerine didn’t do anything wrong. My expectations did.
So here's the deal. If I actually manage to stop complaining permanently, I’m going to write a book called “The Day I Stopped Complaining.” Because I swear, the day I do, I’ll probably unlock the hidden secrets of the universe.
This might just be the most difficult and transformative resolution I’ve ever made. But something tells me it’s worth it.