Ever know someone who was full of vitriolic, toxic, opinions? I’ve been this way myself. As a blogger, it’s a natural inclination to think so mucking fuch (as Mom would say), of myself and my opinion, posting trite commentaries about whatever it is I dislike at any given moment. Lately, I find more gratification when I can turn my energy towards hating the hate itself–looking for the positive. I didn’t like what the angst did to me when I was full of it. It soured my stomach and the air I took in. I know I spent many a coffee break, bending the ear of a tolerant friend, grinding home some point that may have been fodder for a few laughs on occasion, but likely put some distance between myself and that person. No one can thrive on negativity for long.
If our breath is bad, it’s far worse for those closest to us. This realization has caused me to watch what I say around others; as well as distance myself from those who spew their negative energy my way too often.
Today, we have Yelp and many other online venues available, providing a platform for venting out the bitterness. There are Twits and Tweets; in-our-Face-bookings and beatings; tripping advisors and eBay apprised bidders and buyers to beware of. Everything we engage in today (including each other) seems to get a rating. One man’s perfect 10 is another’s 8. If the dude doesn’t have a 6-pack, he’s a 4. But I suppose this is just my 2-cents.
While on Honeymoon in Hawaii, I’ve relied heavily on Yelp to help us find decent places to eat. I’ve used Airbnb as well for most-all our lodging. Some experiences thus far have been brilliant. Others have made me want to scream. I’d love to have that hundred bucks back from the butt load of bad shrimp we ate–maybe take a Bubba Dump on Yelp about it. Or, batter the OCD owner of our Kona condo who littered the unit with decorative framed scribblings of Do’s and Don’ts as to how to keep his place tidy–yet for some baffling reason, never thought it necessary to include a mattress on the rented bed! He furnished his vacation rental with just a tacky boxed spring bottom, covered by a 1-inch, flaccid piece of foam. Only hobos and coffin-clad corpses should find his guest bed more comfortable. A half-million dollar condo and he can’t spring for an actual mattress … shhheeeesh!
See how screwed up we’re both feeling now? I digress.
So how do we balance the act of Yelping others to avoid disappointment and yet not exude a cloud of depressive exhaust from too much assmouth? I say trust your gut. If you find yourself talking to the wall which used to have a friend or two sitting before it, then maybe you’re too daunting to deal with. If however, others embrace you and your opinions and happily ask for a refill with their mug, then maybe you’re just the friend they need.
My mother used to tell me to keep my trap shut unless I had something good to say. She’d probably swat my butt a few times today, had she had opportunity before passing, to read a few of my badder postings here. But I think Jimmy Stewart in the film Harvey put it the best when it comes to the giving of opinions: “My mamma told me,” he says, “You can choose to be right, or you can choose to be pleasant–and I choose to be pleasant.”