Yesterday was a good day. I got up before 6am to drive to Gloucester to pick up my daughter. Apart from a hold up on the M6 because of a vehicle collision, it was a good drive. Then, on the way back, she drove, which was all good - except I wish she would slow down quicker when the car in front puts its brake lights on. I did the grocery shopping and managed to get everything on the list, and then, after putting it all away, went to work. It was a good evening. There were only three things out of date, and very few damaged items, so my disposals bag was almost empty. My manager told me he was very pleased with my work and had put £10 on my colleague card. No – it isn’t much, but it is all he can do within the confines of what he’s allowed to do. I was delighted. The money isn’t important, but the acknowledgement is everything. Unsurprisingly, my Moodscope score was good this morning.

But not every day is a good day, and the bad days stay with us for longer. When it’s a bad day at work – when, for instance, I find I have missed a whole box of sausages, as I did on Friday, I chew over the shame and disappointment for ages. Despite the good day yesterday, I’m still embarrassed about those sausages. I’ve apologised to my manager, but even so… If I’m taken to task, for instance by a family member, I am mortified for weeks, even if I think the criticism unjustified.

What makes us concentrate on the negatives rather than the positives? If we get good marks in all our exams but fail one, why do we dwell on that one? I failed my chemistry O level in 1979 (we still had O levels then, rather than GCSEs) and it still rankles, despite having got nine other good ones. I remember every word of the interview I had with my director of finance in 1998 when she asked me to resign. She was very nice about it, but there we are. I don’t seem to be able to remember the good times with as much clarity. Lex would probably have the answer to why I do this.

Perhaps we just need to make the effort. I should try to remember the feeling I had when my manager told me he was pleased with my work – where we were (just by the fresh pasta) and how he wore his fluorescent yellow jacket and smelt faintly of cigarettes. This is called anchoring. Perhaps I should try to forget about the sausages.

Those are tiny things. We also have big disasters and hopefully big triumphs too in our lives. The disasters anchor themselves forever in our minds without effort, but the triumphs fade. If we try to anchor those triumphs too, perhaps we can call on them whenever the disasters come to mind and hopefully mitigate some of that negativity.

Mary

A Moodscope member