Hurricanes Back in My Day

Hurricanes Back in My Day

It's official. I'm old. Not only am I old, but I'm one of those old folks who compares life today to the good old days and isn't afraid to tell you about how much better it was back in my day. Before reading further, I just want to check: You did notice my tag-line, didn't you: author, marine scientist, curmudgeon? It's not meant to be cute. It's true. Keep that in mind while reading on. So, let's take a walk down memory late to back in my day. Back when hings were actually different and--for some things--better.

Maybe not better in the sense of being good, but better in the sense of, well, not as bad.

What's brought on this crabby nostalgia for hurricane seasons past? I can tell you, it's not hurricanes themselves, or Hurricane Irma or Maria in particular. They suck--all of them. But they aren't nearly as bad as the aftermath. And from what I see and hear all over the internet, even all that suckiness was better, back in my day.

When exactly was my day? Way back when, in the time before the current age of constant electronic--rather than human--contact, when people had to deal with reality, rather than the virtual idea of it.

Subbase and Barnacle Bills after Hurricane Klaus, 1984

I'm not knocking technology. What a blessing it is to have the technology that lets us travel far and wide and still feel close to our loved ones. It has given wings to a whole generation of young travelers, self-professed adventurers. It's also given peace of mind to parents because their adult child is available 24-7, under constant surveillance, or--as it says on the inflatable rafts in my pool--"under competent adult supervision." As THIS phone company's commercial touts, you can go off and have great adventures in foreign lands today, thanks to that constant connection with the internet. You can hop on a plane without knowing a damn thing about the geography, culture, or language of your destination. Who needs to look at a world map to see where you'll be in relation to where you are? Why would it matter that it's a little speck of an island separated from the mainland by a whole lot of water? Who needs to know how to read a local street map when you have GPS on your phone? Who has to be bothered to learn local customs, etiquette, or a few words of greeting when your phone can translate? Why bother to show any consideration for the people you're about to ascend on since they only matter long enough to get that picture posted on social media? And of course that's all that matters because, as we all know, if it isn't on Facebook, Instagram, or Snapchat, it didn't happen.

Ouch.

As I said...this isn't a Pollyanna, isn't-she-a-little-ray-of-sunshine, feel good post, but an old curmudgeon's grumble about the good old days of natural disasters. So let's begin where all old curmudgeon's stories do...

Back in my day...

That would be hurricanes of the 80s and 90s. Before everyone had a cell phone with unlimited talk, text, and data. Before a whole generation of "travelers" thought that "unlimited" meant uninterrupted, ever, by anything, including natural disasters. Back in my day, people would schedule long distance calls around the rates: calls after 8 p.m. and on Sundays were cheaper. Parents packed their kids off to college and then spoke with them once a week on Sundays. Back in my day, parents could do this because they'd actually parented. They were confident they'd done their job so that their adult children would survive away from them without needing to check in or be checked on multiple times per day.

Shoreline Marine in Subbase after Hurricane Klaus, 1984

Back in my day, people understood that, when a storm hit (and they will if you live on a Caribbean island) and power lines and phone lines went down, you and your neighbors would have to be self-sufficient for a bit--and by a bit, I mean many days, even weeks or months. Especially if you lived on an island. Even if you could contact them, your parents and friends afar couldn't do the work of post-storm recovery and survival for you, only you and your neighbors could do that. Back in my day, community came together--friends, neighbors, and strangers in that place at that time--and did what needed doing: secure whatever belongings remained, secure shelter, and start clearing debris so you could, eventually, make it out of the driveway or neighborhood. It's nice to see that, for many people--those who truly are part of the community--that hasn't changed.

Just like today, back in my day, we all had loved ones we needed to get word out to that we were safe. When one person got a message out, it included sharing a list of people to call--the families and friends of friends--passing on second and third hand messages that their loved ones were safe and would be in touch sometime in the weeks ahead, when they were able. Sometimes it was days or even weeks before we could talk with anyone in the states. All we had was each other. And somehow, we all survived. I've seen a lot of that, too. Anyone with access to a satellite phone or who (miraculously) still has phone service, is sharing info with family and friends.

Back in my day, after a hurricane struck, there were no strangers on the island. We'd all just shared a common, horrific experience. We all had a new calendar to our lives. Forever more, all things would be divided into Before-Marilyn, During-Marilyn, or After-Marilyn" (or Klaus, Hugo, Georges, or whatever the storm had been.) We all had tales to tell of horror, of valor, of miracles. Everyone listened no matter how many times they'd heard it, because we all understood. We could tell our tales to those who hadn't been there, and they'd listen--once or twice before losing interest. But they'd never really know. It isn't like sharing with someone who knows.

St. Thomas waterfront after Hurricane Marilyn, 1995

I won't say hurricane recovery on an island was fun back in my day. It was not. It's still not. Even less so when you're hit with the strongest hurricane in recorded history. Followed by another. It's exhausting and emotional and surreal. The new chronology of before and after the storm isn't some random breakdown of time, but distinct, solid bulwarks dividing forever changed lives. The physical world has changed, too. Familiar landmarks, routines, places, events, and even people will never be there, not ever again.

No, that is not fun. But in that common circumstance, the community came together, back in my day. Many of the posts I see on Facebook and Twitter from my friends on my beloved islands--still the home where my heart resides--remind me of back in my day in a terrible-wonderful way. I know their exhaustion. I know their anxiety. I know the exhilarating, sheer joy of seeing even the smallest bit of familiarity. Back in my day, it was "Hurray! Percy's Bus Stop made it!" "Look, Cafe Normandy opened!" Anything to give us a touchstone that let us know things existed in the time before-the-storm, because that all seems so alien afterwards.

Frenchtown, in front of Cafe Normandy after Hurricane Marilyn, 1995.

Alas, the grumpy old curmudgeon in me also sees a new side to the storm, something that wasn't there back in my day. That's the distance and alienation---the separateness from that shared trauma--that some people are expressing. I blame it on social media that has allowed people to live 1500 miles away from "home" but never become part of their new community. Why talk with the person next to you when you can chat with virtual friends on social media? Why talk with one person when you can "connect" to hundreds with a single tap? The "So-Me" (SOcial MEdia) phenomenon--always being in touch, always having instant gratification, and always needing to have one's existence verified and validated by "likes" and followers without ever having to make a single human connection, has created a huge gap in some people's ability to function in a situation where the only important contacts are human-to-human, and where the internet isn't, but actual people are. Like on an island after a hurricane.

Many studies tell of increasing alienation, loneliness, and depression in 20- and 30-somethings, especially among those who live their lives on social media (Davey, 2016; Hobson, 2017; Molloy, 2017) I see that alienation, and the fear that brings, in some of the social media posts I've seen from the Virgin Islands in the days since Irma struck. This article talks about some of those rumors compared to what's actually happening on the ground. 

The even more telling posts come from people who were there back in my day. It's a similar message, over and over: "This post-hurricane island isn't like after Marilyn or Hugo--there are a lot of rude people out there." From the reports, it's clear many of the people making things more difficult and more frightening than they have to be--for themselves and everyone--are those who weren't prepared for the reality of living on a small rock in the middle of a big sea, who remained connected to their stateside life and disconnected from the reality of living on an island.

I guess this isn't a surprise. Back in the early 00s, when cell phone ownership and coverage expanded in a huge way, stories started coming out from mountain rescue squads about how many people, ill-prepared for the realities and hardships of a mountain trek, would decide to climb not just a hill, but a serious mountain like Denali. As soon as the going got rough and they were in over their head, these "adventurers" would just make a call on their cell phone asking to be rescued, completely oblivious or uncaring to the fact they were putting other people's lives in jeopardy due to their own ignorance and hubris. "I have a cell phone, therefore I am invincible." Calling someone else for help relieves them of all self-responsibility and puts the onus for their safety on someone else's shoulders.

Just as the idea of a mountain climb differed drastically from the reality, the reality of island living is much different from most people's idea. Island living isn't all frozen drinks at the beach every day. First and foremost, it's life: work, bills, grocery shopping, and hoping the cistern has water. The reality is: Everything has to be shipped in so it's more expensive, so you have to budget. Potable water is scarce, so you have to conserve. Electricity is expensive and often sporadic, so you have to be able to function both with it, and without. Life moves slower, so you learn to let things happen when they happen. And, after a storm, communication off island, and even on island, is difficult at best or nonexistent at worst (like it was for many for a brief time during and after Irma). So,  you learn to interact with the humans next to you instead of the device in your hand. After a storm, help will arrive--that's a HUGE bonus of these islands being the United States Virgin Islands, but it's coming from a distance, and often, the storm that just struck is in between the island and the source of that help. You can survive the days after a storm, especially with the help of your friends. So you'd better hope they don't only exist on your So-Me feeds.

In line at Gourmet Gallery in Crown Bay Marina after Hurricane Marilyn, 1995.

Back in my day, post-hurricane recovery on an island sucked. In that regard, it's exactly like today. There are no two-ways about it. If you want to see or talk to someone, you have to get out of the house and go to them. Going to them will be an adventure--and not in a fun way. Some streets will be impassable, others will be gone. Lights will be out, signs will be down. You won't get where you're going fast. When you get there, you'll wait in line. You'll wait for fresh water, for food, for ice, for the bank, for a phone line, a phone, a computer and internet access. Some who lost everything will wait in line for clothing, toiletries, and a bed. (If you aren't in that line, quit whining about having lost "everything.") You'll wait--sometimes months--for the utility workers to restore services to your house. You'll wait for limited supplies to arrive on island. You'll wait for the insurance adjuster, the FEMA people, and the contractor. Then you'll wait longer because every single person on the island needs all those things, and most of them are probably in line ahead of you. You'll wake at sunup and work and wait in lines until sundown, then you'll fall into bed exhausted. Wake. Repeat. Every day. For months. It will suck, no two ways about it.

Cleaning up after Hurricane Georges in Puerto Rico, 1998.

In all the many lines you'll wait in, and through all the anxiety, fears, and exhaustion, what remains and what makes hurricane recovery tolerable--survivable--is the actual, living human being next to you, who has shared your experience. The community, the camaraderie, and the support get everyone through the weeks, months, and years ahead. When your So-Me friends have moved on to the next trending hashtag, you'll still be in line and still be recovering. What will remain, are the connections, person-to-person, made during the time After-Irma. Those connections will validate and verify your existence and experience far more than a hundred "likes" from virtual friends.

I know that back in my day and today aren't all that dissimilar for the vast majority of those who live in--and whose lives are in--the Virgin Islands. We were terrified, in shock, and felt alone. We really, really wanted to close our eyes to the disaster and keep them closed until everything was back to normal. But we couldn't, just like you can't now. What's really different today from back in my day, is then we expressed all of our many emotions of the storm and what came after to the people next to us in line. They understood. We cried on each other's shoulders when we needed to, because we couldn't shout into the void of cyberspace. We couldn't broadcast our fears and difficulties out to the world through social media. Having that outlet makes it easier to react in a loud, far-reaching way, expressing the fear and grief that everyone will feel at many points during recovery. But that echo chamber also magnifies all the fears, the hardship, the trauma, and reflects that distorted version of our fears back to us, giving the impression that they're greater than they are; that they're insurmountable. They aren't.

FEMA Tarps across Tutu, St. Thomas, 1995.

For my dear friends and family on all the islands affected--and that's all of you who are there, who have gone through this traumatic disaster because there are no strangers on an island after a hurricane--for all of you who are now rolling up your sleeves (once again), and getting on with the work of recovering (once again): my heart is with you. Those who have been through past disasters know that this is not an easy time, but what we know is that the Virgin Islands has gone through this before and will go through it again, and because of the bonds forged as you overcome this, the community will once again come through stronger and more united than before.

For those who've never gone through something like this before and will remain to rebuild, it may be hard to believe now, but in the weeks and months ahead, you will survive together, as a part of the Virgin Islands' community. Choose to be part of that community, to connect with your neighbors standing in line with you. Just like in my day, the only way to get to the other side of today's turmoil and hell is to go through it. I guarantee, despite the challenges, despite the pain and fear, despite the exhaustion, you will survive and thrive-- together. Disaster recovery sucks. But now, in your day, it can also be an amazing, powerful, and, as hard as it is to believe right now, an ultimately positive experience, just like it was back in my day.

 

Davey, Graham C.L. (2016). Social Media, Loneliness, and Anxiety in Young People. Psychology Today. Available at https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/why-we-worry/201612/social-media-loneliness-and-anxiety-in-young-people

Hobson, Katherine (2017). Feeling Lonely? Too much time on social media may be why. National Public Radio, South Carolina. Available at http://www.npr.org/sections/health-shots/2017/03/06/518362255/feeling-lonely-too-much-time-on-social-media-may-be-why

Molloy, Mark (2017). Too much social media 'increases loneliness and envy' - study. The Telegraph. Available at http://www.telegraph.co.uk/technology/2017/03/06/much-social-media-increases-loneliness-envy-study/

The author has been through Hurricanes Klaus, Cesar, Luis, Irene, Marilyn, Bertha, Hortense, Georges, Floyd, Matthew, and Irma. It doesn't make her an expert on hurricanes, but it does make her an old hand at surviving all the suckiness of their aftermath. She also knows that there are many people who have very valid and urgent reasons to get help or to get off the island during recovery---to take care of illness or injury, either their own or of a loved one, elderly parents needing care, and others. She knows some people just can't deal with the trauma and should leave to take care of their own mental health first. She also knows many lovely people have moved to an island on a flight of fancy, not knowing the realities of island life--herself included--but have learned to live in that reality and gone on to become active, contributing, and valuable members of the community. Nothing here is meant to deride any of these people, but to encourage them, in her curmudgeonly way, to stay #VIStrong.

So you want me to review your book...

Dear Author/Agent/Publicist,

You've asked me to review your book.

Really?

Have you looked at my tagline? You know, the one right up there in the header on my homepage, splashed across my business cards, and the first line of my bio? Let me refresh your memory:

Lynne M. Hinkey: Author, Marine Scientist, Curmudgeon.

 

If that doesn't give you pause, perhaps you should look up "curmudgeon" in the dictionary. Go on. I'll wait.

That shirt says it all.

 

Still want to send your book my way?

I know what you're thinking: but look at the first word in her tag line. She's an author so she'll know how tough the publishing world can be.

Let me dispel any misconceptions about my empathy that first word may suggest. Yes, I am an author, so yes, I do understand.

Here's what I understand:

I understand that a few typos can slip into a manuscript even after:

• two runs through the critique group;

• 2-3 beta readers;

• the professional editor (that didn't come cheap);

• the publisher's editor (if you have a publisher) or another pass by a few select and nitpicky readers if you don't; and,

• a final review of the galleys (where you find some errors, correct them, find some more, correct them, and make a very, final, last-ever-before-printing change to the galley).

That's the process I went through with my own novels only to open that first, hot-off-the-press copy and find a few errors. I understand mistakes happen despite our best efforts.

I understand the ensuing mortification that comes from thinking someone will suspect I'm an idiot or that I was so anxious to publish I didn't bother to proofread. 

Mostly, I understand if you haven't gone through something close to that degree of editing, your book isn't ready to be published.

I know firsthand, the agony of querying, waiting, and accumulating rejection letters. And I now understand those were often wake-up calls indicating I wasn't ready. I needed time to learn more about my chosen craft, hone my skill, and evolve.  

I understand working at one's writing craft for long, difficult years, squeezing in the time to write around other commitments (the ones that pay the bills). I've had my ego, swollen by years of being told what a good writer I am, trampled by writing groups and classes full of other "good" writers. I understand that good isn't good enough, and the work needed to go from good, to better, to maybe being ready to publish. I know it doesn't happen by magic, but through effort.

I know the resilience it takes to put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard)  once again, after you've poured your heart into a novel only to have your queries met by the deafening silence of non-responses. I also know the shame of looking back at those early efforts ("Did I really dare send this unrefined, adolescent endeavor out into the world?") I know about those premature ejaculates shoved into the dark recesses of a drawer somewhere, the ones that serve as lessons in humility, the inexpert, heavy-handedness of the tyro  writ large across the page. They buoy us with the solid evidence of progress, showing how far our writing has come, and they prod us to keep improving by reminding us that we thought our writing was good enough then, too.

Yes, dear author, as a fellow writer, I am fully cognizant of your plight. I understand if you haven't gone through something close to that degree of anguish, failure, then overcome it and tried again, harder, better armed, better able---your aren't ready to release your work out into the world.

As a curmudgeon, I jealously guard my limited and precious reading and writing time. If you haven't invested the time and effort needed to develop your craft beyond its raw, novice stages, and to ensure your work is the best you're capable of, why should I?

I see a few of you are still reading, perhaps only in preparation of leaving nasty comments below. If I haven't frightened you away and you'd still like to request I review your book, here's what you can and can't expect.
 

Unless you've reached the pinnacle of your writing abilities and have produced a masterpiece, don't expect five-stars. Besides author and curmudgeon, the marine scientist part of me is a college professor. I equate stars with grades and here's a breakdown of my grading system.

A = 5 stars. Exceptional. Everything about this book is close to perfect. There are fewer than 4 errors per 100 pages (see, I'm sympathetic), well-developed scenes, characters, and plot, no plot holes, appropriate pacing for the genre, and (as appropriate) it meets the expected conventions of the genre.

B = 4 stars. Above average. While not perfect, this book has few errors (no more than 6 or 7 per hundred pages), is engaging, well-developed and executed, meeting the conventions of the genre (as appropriate), although some component of it (writing, setting, characters, or plot) falls short.

C = 3 stars. Average. This is the grade the majority of students will earn, and the rating the vast majority of books deserve. They're good. Not great. Self-published authors who have edited, revised, rewritten, and re-edited, should expect this rating, meaning your book is just as good as the majority of books out there.

If your book earns a D (below average or severely flawed) or an F (utterly fails to meet the minimum level of quality expected of a published work) don't worry. I won't embarrass you with a bad review because I'm not going to read very much of it. (No, I don't have the time to tell you why.)

If my refusal to give out 5-star ratings willy-nilly offends, well, I'm probably not the reviewer for you. Still thinking of asking me for a review? Check that dictionary definition of curmudgeon one more time. You also might want to read this post to get a better understanding of my thoughts on negative reviews.

If you are a sensitive soul and this post has made you question not only if you want me to review your book, but even if you're cut out to be an author ("If I can't have five-stars, I won't do it!"), look at your favorite books on amazon. I'll bet they don't have all 5-star reviews. Let's take a look.

Here are some books that I'd give 5-stars (so if your book is on a par with these, expect 5-stars, otherwise, don't.)

Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams: 1266 reviews (886-5*, 201-4*, 84-3*, 42-2*, and 53-1*)

Lamb by Christopher Moore: 1296 reviews (984-5*, 193-4*, 55-3*, 27-2*, and 37-1*)

Unseen Academicals by Terry Pratchett: 171 reviews (95-5*, 51-4*, 17-3*, 8-2*, and 0-1*)

Skinny Legs and All by Tom Robbins: 147 reviews (103-5*, 21-4*, 11-3*, 8-2*, and 4-1*)

A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle: 1553 reviews (998-5*, 299-4*, 117-3*, 52-2*, and 87-1*)

 

Those numbers should show you two things: first, just because you wrote a book doesn't mean you get all 5-star ratings. Yes, it's a big accomplishment, kudos to you for sticking with it, but the ratings aren't "attaboys" (or attagirls) for your writerly endurance, but an indication of the quality of that effort. Not everyone gets a trophy for participating. Second, reviews are subjective. I'd give all the books above five stars, but not everyone agrees. When you don't get a 5-star review, don't get too fussed. When you do, keep your ego in check. It's only one person's opinion.

So, back to the beginning. You've asked me to review your book. Still interested?

I don't guarantee you five stars. You'll have to earn those. I do guarantee I'll give an honest and thoughtful review.

Sincerely,

~Lynne M. Hinkey

Author, marine scientist, curmudgeon
and book reviewer at Underground Book Reviews
and the Internet Review of Books

 

 

The Perils of Positive Thinking, or Why I'd Rather Be a Curmudgeon

In the RSAnimate video Smile or Die, acclaimed journalist, author and political activist Barbara Ehrenreich talks about the darker side of positive thinking. Obviously, this appealed to Curmudgeon-Lynne. While watching, all I could do was nod, wipe away an occasional tear, some of happiness knowing I'm not the only one who sees through the smoke-and-mirrors of "happy-happy-joy-joy" and others of sheer terror at how far we (the majority of the American people) have been led down the garden path with this happy-horseshit.

 

At one point in my life, I was a pretty optimistic person.

Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration. At one point, I was naive and even then, I was a realist and had pretty strong critical thinking skills that led me to question and analyze the world around me. It usually didn't stack up to the bill of goods being sold. When it did, it made me very happy. That hits the high points of my optimism.

The video focuses on happy culture in the corporate world, where being a team player and cheerleader trumps knowledge or skills. As I discovered when I went to work for the federal government, it's equally true there. Early on in my tenure as a fed, I was assigned a project overseeing a contractor's progress and ultimate product. It became apparent in short order that there was little (no) progress being made. So, I pointed that out. A few times. Until finally, some scraps of nothing-substantial were submitted. I could've done the same in 30-minutes. Only my work wouldn't have had the typos, poor grammar, or misused words. I pointed out the flaws.

For that, the contractor got more money (because obviously the reason for the shoddy work was their initial inadequate bid, so more $$ would fix it, right?), renewed contracts, and an apology for my tactlessness. I ended up doing the majority of the work (rework), and got sent to "Dale Carnegie," also known as "a total waste of time learning to be a peppy cheerleader for mediocrity". If you aren't familiar with him, Dale Carnegie (he of the "people with mental disorders just need to think positive, happy thoughts" philosophy - seriously, it's in the books they give you to read) was one of the robber barons who made his millions by taking brutal advantage of cheap and abundant labor, only to later be called a "philanthropist" when he used a small fraction of his wealth to build some libraries. The Dale Carnegie course consists of learning how to never say anything that might offend anyone. Ever. Even if they need it. Even if it will help overall productivity and morale to lay the cards on the table so everyone can get to work fixing what doesn't work.

 

God forbid we should do that. Someone (the idiots who everyone else has to work harder for to carry their weight) might be upset. Brings to mind Nero and Rome. Not a happy time for the Romans, but I'm sure Nero was enjoying the music.

I was one of the lucky ones, however. I've had a few supervisors who value substance more, or at least equally, to form. When I gave my honest assessment of what a waste of money the course was (want to improve my attitude for the same amount of money? Send me on a paid vacation), he stopped sending others.

Prior to and after my life as a fed, I'd worked in private industries both big and small, local government, nonprofits, and academia. I've seen that same "positive" model played out in all of those, all striving to keep an amicable, happy work environment, where top management can retreat to their boardroom meetings, hold hands, and sing Kumbyah because life is so good and isn't everything peachy-keen?

The one place where that brainwashing, tuck our problems away, don't air dirty laundry, don't even acknowledge it's in the hamper attitude isn't so prevalent is in small businesses, where workers become like families, so are willing to argue and fight and occasionally call one another a horse's ass when the situation warrants. That gives me hope that we aren't entirely doomed to a death spiral of happiness and positive thinking. There are still bastions of reality in the workplace. That is my happy thought, my positive thinking that I hold on to and that gives me hope that there are others like me out there. Enough of us to prevent a total meltdown due to sheer ignorant bliss.

I won't go into more detail on the video other than to say, if your inner-curmudgeon needs a reassuring pat that it's okay, there's nothing wrong with a dose of reality, watch this. If you worry about those who embrace misperception as reality because that's so much easier than acknowledging errors and then having to correct them, watch this. And, if you vehemently and violently oppose willful ignorance, watch this. It might not make you happy, but it could make you feel better knowing there are others out there who recognize the perils of positive thinking.

Remember, MIS-perception isn't reality. It's WRONG. Deal with it.

EAnd enjoy the video--but don't be happy about it.

 

The Happy Curmudgeon

Holy Crap! I'm a happy person! Who'd've guessed?

Me being happy

If you found my blog via my website, you may have read the "About Me" section, and more specifically, the part about me embracing my inner-curmudgeon. I have, and while it's made me less frustrated than keeping my irritability locked inside, I've often wondered if maybe that's a less-than-ideal strategy for maintaining some...any...positive perspective on life. By owning my grouchiness, am I dooming myself to a life of misery?

Not according to Marc and Angel's website "Practical Tips for Productive Living." (That sort of website, quite frankly, isn't my usual cup 'o tea with all its perky upbeatness, but a friend posted the link to their "30 traits" on facebook and I just had to read what a bunch of malarkey that would be!) Well, wasn't I in for a surprise! With a whopping 27 of the 30 traits they say happy people possess, I'm practically the poster child for happiness!

Here's the link to their blog where you can take an inventory of your own happiness.

http://www.marcandangel.com/2012/07/02/30-traits-happy-people-have-in-common/

I won't go through my entire self-assessment with you, but I did try to be honest. I lost a point on #6 (I LOVE to complain--it makes me happy, so I'm not sure if I should be penalized for that!) I took off 1/2 a point for #9 (I like to identify idiocy when I see it. I don't think I'm blaming anyone for my failures because I'll find a way around the obstacle despite stupid people, but when things could be easier for EVERYONE if someone would just identify the problem, by name, then I see no reason not to.) I also lost a 1/2 point for #17 because I know I'm arrogant, particularly about things that I excel at, but I didn't take off a full point because I do admit when I make mistakes and I'm humble about those things I'm not very good. Finally, I lost my 3rd point on #18. It's debatable--at least to me--whether being in control of one's emotions is such a big plus on the happiness scale. I love letting my emotions out on a rampage and think everyone would be happier if they occasionally did the same. For the rest of the questions, well, most of those I do in spades and can't fathom NOT doing them.

So, despite my inner and outer grouches having finally synched up and come to the fore of my persona as Curmudgeon-Lynne, I'm actually a pretty darn happy person. I'm happy with myself, the choices I make in life, and my actions.

It's just all the morons out there making bad decisions that impact my life in a negative way that piss me off. Thank goodness I have my curmedgeon to get me through it all!

How about you? How happy are you and what do you think of those traits?