Around a year ago, at the dinner table, one of us was complaining about something. I forget what it was and who it was. Maybe it was me. Maybe I was frustrated with a project or a work situation. Regardless, there was some serious personal annoyance being expressed, and it led to some dinnertime sniping, and then there was a lull in the conversation.

It got quiet, the complaint echoing amid the scraping of forks and spoons.

Then, out of nowhere, our son broke the silence:

“Well,” he said, “at least you’re not on fire.”

———

We burst out laughing. Because he was right. However annoyed or frustrated or irritated we might have been at whatever it was, it totally could have been worse. We could have been, you know, ON FIRE. And that’s pretty bad.

So these days, whenever someone works themselves up into a fit of complainery, we just remind them of the encouraging fact that it could be worse. Much worse.

“At least you’re not on fire,” we tell them.

And usually the complaining stops.