Don’t be grumpy – be happy
As we get older, it’s easy to whinge and scowl, says Lucy Deedes. Much better to avoid confrontation, smile and accept life’s little let-downs
When we were small children, the things that made us angry were predictable: the wrong jam on our toast; being teased; toys that wouldn’t work, however hard we bashed them; not being allowed to wear a ballet dress to church.
As we age, any of these can still be problematical, but there will be other Red Alert areas, around which our nearest and dearest learn to tread on eggshells, as with Mrs Bennet and her nerves in Pride and Prejudice. We bemoan the things we can no longer buy (yes, you, Pentel 1.3 Italic pen) but we need to get over it and stop being grumpy.
A brief surge of anger at our own stupidity can be healthy and make us strive to do better, but a constant state of grumpiness is wearing, bad for our health and dangerously habit-forming. In P G Wodehouse’s Jill the Reckless, Wally urges Jill to ditch her frowning fiancé. ‘Scowling is the civilised man’s substitute for wife-beating,’ he tells her, not entirely altruistically. But he has a point – a state of simmering fury is, intentionally or not, intimidating.
We all have our private whinges – which we nurture like guinea pigs – and the danger is that they become entrenched. I spend a lot of time shouting at printers: at their eager thirst for ink and their refusal to recognise a laptop, sitting just three feet away, to which they have been regularly and pleasantly introduced. And I don’t think I’m revealing any secrets to say that my brother’s tipping point is small children in proximity on an aircraft.
Of course, there are times when we are justified in losing the plot (injustice, bullying, a crime against a child) but all too often it stems from a sense of entitlement, our conviction that we are in the right. The no-platforming of provocative speakers by university student unions suggests they have no intention of listening to an argument and
learning to accept their differences. I don’t recall my father (the journalist W F Deedes, ‘Dear Bill’ in the Private Eye letters, supposedly from Denis Thatcher, in fact written by Richard Ingrams and John Wells) ever expressing more than weary disappointment in a tense situation because he never did feel entitled: his survivor’s guilt from the war and his belief that he was undereducated meant he was content to defer to others and avoid any sort of confrontation.
Viktor E Frankl writes, in Man’s Search for Meaning, ‘When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.’ We must try to know ourselves and our weaknesses, and if we have trouble identifying our own shortcomings our grown-up children are sure to assist.
Nobody likes sitting in a traffic jam. You are not alone in your impotent rage – so assume that there will be traffic and listen to a talking book or a David Sedaris podcast. If it’s shouty children on aircraft, pay extra for Smuggie Boarding and get yourself into the front seats with the oligarchs and a bottle of wine. Instead of darting resentful looks at the mother with the crying baby, ask if she’d like some help. In our family, we accept that noise is a major irritant; so we travel with our own bodyweight in earplugs.
I find the cinema depressing, and refuse an invitation that involves a film. Bliss. As for bridge – if you’re not competitive and don’t enjoy gossip, then just say ‘No, thank you’ and enjoy the free time you’ve saved. Christmas shopping (and the vicious parking that goes with it) is bad for everyone’s blood pressure. Do a Secret Squirrel with the family, buy a present for just one person and get it online. Bingo!
We can’t always avoid the people we don’t like. So instead of dodging them at a party, go up to them, smile and properly engage with them – even for just a few minutes. ‘Old Squiffington is quite a jolly fellow,’ you may or may not remark to your partner on the way home. At the very least, smiling will give your immune system a boost, release dopamine and serotonin and quite possibly extend your life.
If someone sensationally offends you, you may feel a strong letter coming on. Stop! Stand away from the laptop and resist the lure of Twitter. Sleep on it; mow the lawn; go for a run; or do some strenuous housework before you write. Better still, don’t write at all because it fosters the negative feelings and prolongs the argument. Go and see the offending party – it’s disarming – or try dignified silence. (The blush of shame mantles my cheeks as I write, remembering bitter post-divorce insults and counter-insults in dealings with my ex-husband.)
If all else fails, think to yourself, as a friend of mine does, What would the Queen do? Would she barge into your parking space, be rude to a waiter, or ride by on her bicycle, flicking V-signs and swearing? I don’t think so.
‘Would the Queen barge into your parking space or be rude to a waiter?’