Half full.

Shit happens. It's a fact. As you know, the cliche is to talk about your glass--half full or half empty? Do you measure what you have, how you feel, what has plopped itself on your path, or how much is in your bank account through your comparison to others, by what your family of origin thinks of you, by your culturally fueled sense of entitlement? How much control over this do we really have; can one fill the half empty glass or can things go so wrong that the half full receptacle goes dry?

Clients come in and tell their stories. They reveal some basic parts of their personality and their perspectives just in the telling. There's the person who just lost his job and has gone back to working at a fast food restaurant for double shifts because he needs to support himself and likes to feel productive. There's that guys neighbor, who has been living with her mom for three years now and complains, bitterly, that life is not fair because the only jobs out there are at fast food restaurants and she just can't see herself doing that. What's the difference between these two folks? Do you know?

Marvelous are the people who take a whole lot of terrible knocks in their life and still look for the good or, perhaps more importantly, decide not to dwell on the bad when it comes to how they view their friends, family members, co-workers. Tedious are the ones who use gossip as a way of communicating and use toxic anger as a way of "telling the truth." What is it about me that I see this as a choice? Is it? Or is it hardwired, entrenched?

This dilemma matters to me not just because it is a curious one. It matters in my work with clients and within my relations with family, friends and co-workers. People take their "glass" very personally, you know, and the fullness (or lack there of) always has a reason or a story to explain why. The guy I saw some years ago who was invested in "pointing out what's wrong because it's true," was a challenge for me. He couldn't see how his negativity and criticism was pushing people away; he really felt that his anger, which of course was hurt, shame and fear all mixed together, was a way to keep himself from the worry of being abandoned or hurt more. He's the guy who really had a lot going for him, but at the same time was lonely as shit and couldn't see why. You probably know guys like this at your work place or in your family. He's the one who complains a lot about the same things-the people in his life who don't do things right/well/correctly-and who drips with negativity when talking about his life even though you can see that he has a lot of what he says he's always wanted. Eventually he's the guy you avoid because interactions with him are unpleasant and annoying. He's the guy who comes to therapy to talk about all the terrible things in his world. The therapist then has to figure out a way to lead him to a fuller cup by way of conversations about how his toxicity won't keep him safe, only lonely.

Culturally we allow for this dialogue. We have television shows that speak to this base part of our personality; where saying shitty things is "honesty" and that "turning the other cheek, finding the good," is naive. It's that black and white thinking, again, and we are reduced to being right or being wrong, and who wants to be wrong? This guy I'm talking about, he was so concerned about being seen as a failure at relationships all he could do to manage that feeling was to find the failures in others and point them out before anyone might see his. The world is full of these folks, and so are therapy offices. Projection is abundant and, whoa, look out when it comes your way.

When Obama came along I was entranced by the tone he set. With Bush, there was a hostile, black and white, we are right, therefore you are wrong, tone. Obama spoke with an entirely different language and set out to redefine how we talked about difficult issues. Politics aside, these two narratives kind of speak to the glass. One is a way to see how we contribute to the problem and to be accountable for that and the other is to make the problem be about anything, anyone else so that we can bask in self righteousness. Problem is, the more self righteous the more bitter, the more "right" the more alone.

I guess it's kind of like 'emotional obesity.' The cultural phenomenon of taking the easy way out. Does my engaging in the toxic gossip about my family make me feel better in the moment? If yes, then have at it. Do I want to go for that walk the doctor keeps nagging me about? If no, then fire that doctor for not being supportive. Do I have to really imagine that the woman at the gas station, the one who was calling me a 'bitch', is frustrated and lonely or can I just scream back at her and feel vindicated? It's stuff like this, where the dominant psychological point of view is fueled by revenge, that keeps us stuck and the glass half empty. In therapy there is a little ditty that sums this up, "do you want to get even, or do you want to get better?"

If I see myself as a failure, am I? If I use anger to protect me, does it? If I still feel love for the person who hurt me, am I an idiot? If you act in ways that I don't like, should I hate you? If I don't feel safe, am I really in danger? If I point out her/his failures, will it shield me from mine?

If I see my glass half full, like I do this morning-brimming actually-am I a fool?