Why whine?
I was driving. Cruise control set to the speed limit of 30 km/h. I stopped at a crosswalk to let an elderly couple pass.
The man stared as he walked in front of my car. He tapped his index finger on the side of his head, the international sign for “You’re crazy.”
I rolled down the window and asked him what was wrong. He replied:
“There’s a crosswalk here.”
I told him I was aware of that, that’s why I stopped. What more could I do, I asked.
“You didn’t stop fast enough.”
I started laughing at the bizarre argument. Shook my head, letting him know that he was the crazy one, not me, and drove off.
What a whining, grumpy old man. Some people will always find something to complain about.
Fast forward a few hours...
I’m writing this text, and I realize something:
Now I’m the one whining. Whining about someone else whining. I’ve become a grumpy old man.
And guess what? It feels pretty good. Letting it all out.
That’s why we whine.