And you think you’ve got problems!

“And you think you’ve got problems” was my mother’s default catchphrase. As a teenager, it felt like a dismissive attempt to slice through real issues. But as an adult, I find it a clever way to gain some gratitude.

Don’t dwell on the small stuff. 

It could always be worse.

I just read the Yiddish folktale1 to my daughter recently. You know, the one where the man seeks out his rabbi because he’s overwhelmed living with his dramatic wife, overbearing mother-in-law, and energetic children. The rabbi advises the man to bring his animals into his house one by one. Of course, the head of the household soon realizes, while surrounded by goats, cows, and geese, that he didn’t have it so bad in the first place.

While things might seem problematic, they’re rarely donkey-sleeping-in-your-bed bad, right?

If ruminating on your problems takes up too much brain power, you might reframe your troubles. Think: “Fortunately, I wasn’t born when I would have been required to labor in a coal mine as a pipe-smoking child of five.”

My only resolution for 2024 has been to reframe many of life's little missteps into something more positive. For example, my husband and I haven’t been able to travel since COVID hit, but I’m thankful for our blessing of a healthy holiday season in 2023. After three previous seasons of sickness, we emerged into 2024 relatively unscathed. The years of illness from 2020-2022 were so destructive we even had a name for them—the Tucci Curse!

Yes, Stanley Tucci, I’m looking at you.

For the past three years, we’d watch one of your shows and end up in bed with some diabolical life-altering illness through much of November. For 2020’s Thanksgiving curse, we watched your classic Big Night and were out of commission for two weeks. In 2021, we committed to your series Stanley Tucci: Searching for Italy and got slaughtered for all of November. In 2022, we watched Inside Man, which hexed us with a severe sickness that spanned from the T-Day holiday into New Year festivities straight on to V-Day.

Stanley Tucci, you are an esteemed actor, but for the love of wellness, you’re officially banned from our home until early spring. No hard feelings. 

Somehow, 2023 turned out differently, though.

When I spotted a Stanley Tucci article on social media just before Halloween, I went on high alert and deleted that sucker. And by the grace of God, we remained healthy throughout the holiday season. Now, I’m still battling a chronic illness, but to not have to face the seasonal sludge is cause for celebration.

We were so happy about our health that my husband and I took a mini trip to the town of Helen for our 6th wedding anniversary. Helen is the Octoberfest capital of Georgia. But with my recovering alcoholic husband in tow, it wasn’t booze we were after. On the afternoon of New Year’s Eve, we hiked up Anna Ruby Falls to see a waterfall. The place was so packed I suggested we return the next day, in the early morning hours. Even the New Year isn’t enough to cure my insomnia, so we made the second hike happen and had a breathtaking view of the falls without any crowds to obscure it

I was so thrilled we made good on our plans I didn’t even mind the two-hour wait for lunch at the beer garden. I ordered a cloudy hefeweizen on the drinking patio and watched the world go by. But once we got inside, I noticed the tapestry on the wall—the Neuschwanstein Castle.

Ever seen it? I know you have.

The inspiration for Sleeping Beauty’s castle in Disneyland2, this Bavarian marvel sits in the Alps' foothills near the Austrian border. I visited the place in person in 2011 with a friend who was teaching at one of the German international schools. You remember 2011, right? That long-forgotten time, when traveling and planking were all the rage.

That summer, I landed in Europe post-divorce and met up with my teacher bestie. Reaching the village of Füssen in mid-July, we drank beers like it was Octoberfest. By the time we got to the castle gates, I was planking my heart out until the beer piss hit me hard. In no time, my companion was under duress, too.

I counted our euros, but we only had enough for one visit to the castle’s pay toilets.

“Smash up against me,” I said to my tipsy friend.

“What?” she asked.

“Just do it!” I demanded.

I plunked down enough coins for one person to enter through the toilet turnstile. Then I shoved that crank as hard as I could as my drinking buddy finally caught on and squeezed herself up next to me. We narrowly made our way through as a singleton.

Tah-dah! For the price of one admission, we were in separate stalls in no time.

And you think you’ve got problems?

In 2011, an immense beer piss was my biggest worry. I had no idea what I’d do when I returned to the Southeastern US as a twice-divorced woman who had traded in her teaching credentials for the low pay of performing burlesque, but I didn’t let it distract me in Europe. Just like with the paid toilets of Bavaria, I knew I would figure it out—somehow.  

We took the standard castle tour. And yes, Neuschwanstein Castle is as stunning on the inside as it looks looming above the Alps. But among the castle’s interior, I felt this lingering melancholia as we wandered through the castle’s halls. In stark contrast to my planking and paid toilet antics was this sense of pure doom.  

I couldn’t shake it.

In the grand bedroom, I even got struck with an earworm—The White Stripes version of Dylan’s One More Cup of Coffee. It wouldn’t let me go. What was the connection between the song and the castle? I still don’t know, but it forced me to wrangle with an undeniable dread in that mammoth place. For all the beauty that surrounded me, I knew something terrible had unfolded here. 

The Neuschwanstein Castle is a bustling tourist attraction that sees about 1.4 million people a year.3 Ironically, in the 19th century, King Ludwig II created it as a “refuge from reality”4—his reality, to be exact.

Ludwig ascended to the throne at only 18 years of age. Even in the mid-1800s, he stated he “had not learned enough”5 to be King at such a young age.

From the Neuschwanstein Castle’s website:

“In 1866, Ludwig II suffered the biggest defeat of his life: … the expanding state of Prussia conquered Austria and Bavaria in the ‘German War.’ From then on, Bavaria's foreign policy was dictated by Prussia and the king was only a ‘vassal’ of his Prussian uncle.”6

The young king was not exactly king material.

As a writer and an artist, I can sympathize with him. Ludwig II was obsessed with beauty, art, and music—particularly the intense musical compositions of Richard Wagner. Ludwig II fought for the things any artist and compassionate person would—he protested anti-Semitism and gave tremendous financial support to the artistic projects that most captured his attention—primarily Wagner’s operas.

Ludwig II was so troubled by his role as head of state that he began to sleep only during the day and live purely in a fantasyland of his own making. He envisioned “a holy kingdom by the Grace of God” and set his sights on creating a secluded wonderland to tower above the village of Hohenschwangau.7 This endeavor wasn’t done to lord his wealth and power above the ordinary citizen but rather it captured his desire to escape the grip of royal and stately expectations.

Ludwig II never married or took any mistress, and many of his writings suggested he may have been gay, another aspect of himself he felt he had to suppress during his role as a 19th-century king due to its incompatibility with Christianity and the aristocracy. Wagner seems to be a target for many of Ludwig’s tender feelings, as seen in the letters to the composer. So much so that Wagner’s last work, “Parsifal,” incorporated Ludwig’s problems into this high drama, and Neuschwanstein was reinterpreted as the Castle of the Holy Grail.8

Perhaps Ludwig didn’t possess the needed qualities of a king, but he made up for his missed stately appointments and lack of diplomatic assignments through poetic beauty. He’s the “only true king of this century,” stated poet Paul Verlaine.9 Ludwig’s poetic beauty echoes in the rooms of Neuschwanstein; anyone who enters the castle doors can attest to its grandeur.

But in 1886, this sense of artistry wasn’t enough to keep Ludwig II alive.

When the “fairytale king” bankrupted the state of Bavaria through the building of his castle, he was taken into custody on the grounds of mental illness. Sadly, the day after his imprisonment, King Ludwig II was found floating in Lake Starnberg, along with the body of his physician. The cause of death was suicide by drowning, although Ludwig was an excellent swimmer, and the water in which he perished was only waist deep. Not to mention, most people don’t kill themselves alongside their doctors.10

Ludwig once said, “I wish to remain an eternal enigma to myself and others.”11 With that statement, King Ludwig II may have reframed his difficult life into his version of success. Too sensitive to engage with the world as a head of state, Ludwig’s artistry gives one the impression he was born ahead of his time.

While the post-COVID world may not be up to the high-intensity travel plans and planking shenanigans of 2011, we can be grateful to withdraw into our fantasies if we’re willing to flip life’s negatives into something more artistically pleasing. To learn how to tend to our gardens and to acquire a love for the simple beauties that surround us, whether that be baking bread, knitting a sweater, or listening to Wagner’s operas. We don’t all get that opportunity, so count your blessings if you find yourself among the flowers.

While on the surface it sounds trite, there is power in knowing–yes, it could always be worse. Enjoy the here and now.

The Ides of March are coming, and a good Stanley Tucci flick’s no further than your Netflix account!

What can you reframe about your work in progress? Is there a section of your writing you’re struggling with?

Pull it out as a stand-alone piece and reconsider what you’re trying to say. If it has overly negative connotations, try putting a positive spin on it. Or the reverse. Be honest and analyze your feelings instead of seeing your memories through rose-colored glasses. 

When I wrote the story of my emergency C-section, I gave too much credit to my OBGYN and the hospital nurses at the expense of my own story. Some of the circumstances that transpired were unacceptable. In writing that story, I had taken on the same role of patient in labor–a woman in a vulnerable position afraid to speak up for fear of retaliation. But in writing the story of my daughter’s birth, I realized I wasn’t beholden to anyone else’s ego and I could state my story as I recalled the events.

Yes, in life, we sometimes have to appease people to survive. But we don’t have to do that in our writing. How can you own your words and anchor yourself to your feelings now?