Just for the sheer fun of it, about a year ago I decided to take French lessons online. Madame, my instructor explained that we would learn something every visitor to France needs to know. My eyes widened when she said, “We will begin with French swear words.” Within moments I was repeating after her all of the four-letter words that, as I child, would have led to “consequences” from the Olds. The only difference was that it was in French, not English.
She went on to explain that I should practice them when driving. “If you swear in French, no one will know what you are saying and they will not pull out a Tommy gun and shoot you. I cannot afford to lose students that way.” That made sense to me, and so far, least, she is right. No guns, but sometimes a driver will wave, usually with the middle finger.
A few months later she gave me a very high compliment: “You are so French. You do not have a smile plastered on your face. You eat croissants and frites.” That led to an interesting conversation. Apparently smiling, perpetually cheerful Americans are considered highly suspicious. It seems the French believe if people are smiling, they are probably hiding or suppressing something, and sooner or later they will mentally snap. To smile and be overly enthusiastic about anything is even more suspicious.
The French complain a lot, she told me, and about everything. They are even more proficient at grumbling. “If the train is late, we grumble; if anything is the least bit displeasing to us, we grumble.” The list is extensive: the price of a croissant, the weather, traffic, what another person is wearing, and above all, the government and tourists.
As an American, I find that disquieting and unsettling. To be around someone who is always grumbling is neither easy nor fun. To be the one doing the grumbling makes us seem unpleasant. In part, it is because we were schooled with the idea that there are so many reasons to be grateful, and gratitude requires the additional element of cheerfulness.
Madame attributes the complaining and grumbling to their history. She thinks that before the Revolution, the church and state sought to root out malcontents. During the Revolution and Reign of Terror, complainers were often arrested and several thousand were guillotined. Under Napoleon, malcontents were considered to be potential traitors. Eventually it was safe to express negative thoughts, and ever sense, people take advantage of their freedom. She believes it has prevented another revolution. “We do not live in fear of authority because we can complain.” That made sense.
When my father enlisted in the Army Air Corp in early 1942, he learned something about grumbling. Once out of boot camp, soldiers were allowed to grumble and complain, but within certain, often unspecified, limits. Some officers even encouraged it for a very simple reason: Give the men time to get it out of their system and then get back to work. You can imagine the scenario. The sergeant announces a 10-mile hike with full field pack; grumbling follows for a few moments, and then the order, “Ten Hut! Left Face. Column of twos. Forward, march,” and the men obeyed.
The more I think about it, the more I like it. Maybe grumbling really is good for us because it gets the negativity out of our system. Once we do that, we can move forward towards are more balanced and full life. That explains why the Olds would let us complain just so long about doing household chores, school, teachers, the weather, or anything else. It lasted only for a few minutes and came to an end when he quietly asked, “Are you finished?” The answer was always ‘yes,’ and then we got on with the task at hand.
It worked just as well even when work was not involved. We sometimes went for a Sunday afternoon drive, and it wasn’t long before my sister and I were bored. Boredom led to picking on each other and a little teasing. Or, the inevitable question: Are we there yet? Instead of telling us to be quiet or they were going to turn the car around, we were given a few minutes, and then he would remind us that we were explorers and probably having as much fun right in the moment as we would when we got to our destination.
Mother’s method was straight out of the Reign of Terror. “Quit your fussing, or I’ll give you something to really fuss about.” It worked, because she meant it.
From those Sunday drives I first learned the value of being a flaneur – someone who goes for a city walk without a time or destination in mind. A person sets out to walk, pause, see, meditate, and explore.
Last year, one day my nephew realized that he was spending far too much time manicuring his lawn to keep up with the neighbors. He did it because he and his wife were much younger than their neighbors, and he didn’t like their constant criticism. The day came when he said ‘nuts!’ to that way of living, and they sketched out an English style country garden. Lots of flower beds, narrow grassy paths, benches, and a folly. Their folly, made of stone, resembles something from an ancient tower ruin. At Halloween time, it looks positively gothic, all the more so with some spooky music.
To my way of thinking, quietly swearing in a foreign language to an idiot driver saves a lot of potential road rage. The other fellow doesn’t know what I just said, but I do, and the mystery puts a smile on my face. It is a bit of revenge without converting it into competitive road-rage. A little Parisian-style grumbling and complaining (still in English until Madame teaches me additional vocabulary fit for the subject) gets it out of my system, and then it is back to work.
It seems that most people I know are busily chasing success, and they seem to have a fairly limited or narrow idea of success. The ones I’ve talked to all seem to mention lots of money, lots of material possessions, expensive cruises, early retirement, and lots of expensive toys. I have yet to meet one of them who say that they are calling a halt to this quest for inventory because they have enough. They want more.
If success means personally financing the American consumer sector, good for them. I see a successful life that is balanced between work, leisure, and rest. Work reflects one’s values; so also does leisure time. Everything fits together, and we do not try to compartmentalize our life. Above all, we come to realize that a successful life is a joyous consequence, not the pursuit and chase. A few foreign swear words in our vocabulary just might be the grease to make life flow more smoothly.
