I don’t’ want to bore you, but I’m going to write a sentence that is very true for me. Once you’ve read it, don’t stop. The more interesting, dark stuff is on its way. Here it is:
Today is my birthday and I am so filled with gratitude for everyone and everything in my life that just the thought of my good fortune fills my eyes with tears of disbelief.
I truly have NOTHING to complain about.
Yet, somehow the day will go by and I will have whined about a few first world problems, regardless of my earnest intention to take the happy highroad.
It’s just so easy to bitch. We do it all the time. We just don’t post it on Facebook. We’re successful, joyous and flourishing with accomplishment on Facebook. When we do spew venom on social media, we’re usually sanctimoniously judged by the self-righteous. After all, it’s so much easier to judge and scorn bitter assholes than it is to actually be one.
But today is my birthday, damn it. So, I’m gonna be a bitch today and I’m going to make a list (I hate lists so I’m strangely torturing myself as well) of stuff that irks me. In so doing, I hope to exorcise a few demons.
I’m not sweating the small stuff here. I think I’m tackling issues without putting forth the worldly—and perhaps impossible—effort to solve them. It’s not particularly constructive or contributive. It’s just grandiloquent bitching.
If you don’t like it, too bad. It’s not your birthday, it’s mine. So suck it.
Bitter birthday beef #1
I don’t understand why planes keep falling out of the air, but when they do—and I happen to be watching the news—how many times do I need to see the video footage? Is five times enough? Or, is it somehow predetermined by the media-Gods and their sadomasochistic-sensationalism that I need to view the fucked-up footage at least one hundred times my age.
I know. My fault, you say? Just look away? Yeah, I suppose that’s an option. So is having salad with a burger. But no one does it.
Bitter birthday beef #2
Fuck you, cancer. There, I said it. Hey, cancer! Go fuck yourself! My best friend’s mother was just diagnosed with a stage three cancer the other day. This was her reward for taking care of her husband—who has been ill for years—and managing a family that has seen more than its share of hardships.
My mother has had her breasts removed from cancer. My father (now passed) had prostate cancer.
We’ve likely all seen the relentless and unforgiving effects of this evil condition in its many elusive forms, and the more evolved and forgiving path would be acceptance. But that’s for another day. Today it’s this: Fuck you, cancer!
Bitter birthday beef #3
Space Travel.
“Hey, we’re going to put a man on Mars.”
How about putting a man in an apartment? It’s cold out.
If you’re one of those assholes who applied to spend a stupid amount of money—money that you’re not going to give to a deserving charity—to get on that flight to Mars, please read the first two words of beef #2.
If this is some weird way of believing you will achieve immortality, you’re part of the problem. The reality is that you’re going to die. We all are. Peace comes from your acceptance of that fact, not your self-serving disillusionment that Mars will offer up some Buck Rogers-Nirvana that will solve all your suffering—while those you leave behind do the actual suffering.
Go to a yoga class and contemplate this thought for hours, as it may just change your mind: You’re going to die. Deal with it. It’s not science fiction. It’s real.
Bitter birthday beef #4
Bikram Choudhury
Sure, you gave us a cool yoga series. Thanks for that. Now, start behaving like a mentor, not a predator.
I’m guessing the damage is done and it might be too late for that, but for the love of Buddha and all things yoga: Get. It. Together.
Whew. Glad it’s not my birthday every day.
Okay, as you were.
Paul McQuillan – Author of #1 Bestseller, I Hate Yoga (Morgan James Publishing, NYC, 201
ihateyogabook 