Exeter Without Complaint

By FORREST ZENG ‘26

What is the biggest problem our school faces? No, it’s not a lack of sleep, dining hall food, nor too much homework. No, as big as these problems are, the greatest problem our school faces is with that very question itself—what is wrong with our school? 

I’ll be more specific—the problem isn’t with that critical question, but how we ask that critical question, “what is wrong with our school?” The problem at Exeter isn’t about finding problems with Exeter, but how we do it. It’s the difference between intuition and rationality. There’s a difference between criticizing and complaining. And complaining is a problem.

Don’t take this personally, but the chances are that you are already complaining about this article. Even if it’s not explicit, you are feeling a subconscious affront upon your ego, a tingly sense which certainly tells you “Who does this guy think he is?.” The part of your brain that commands stress, the amygdala, is starting to rev up like a lawn mower, ready to fight.

Complaining is a form of social currency. How many times have you started a conversation with, “I’m so tired?” Don’t deny it, but there is a subtle, perverted sense of superiority when someone tells you, “I only got seven hours of sleep,” and you get to respond with, “I only got five.” It stems from our ability to form social groups around one common thing—whether it be positive or negative. We can form social groups, huge ones, surrounding a fetishized version of pain. 

That’s the problem. People are in the habit of complaining. It makes you feel good because you don’t have to bear agency for anything. It’s an immature form of justice. There’s a difference, though, between complaining and criticizing. When you complain, you shift the burden away from yourself. When you criticize, you shift the burden onto yourself to fix it. 

Take this example. This fall, the school administration announced a new pilot schedule for the Spring term. As with all new changes at this school, everybody hated it. You could not find a single person that acknowledged it might be a good idea. The cantankerous moans of the student body filled dorms and classrooms, grumbling about the “awkward” ten minute passing period they had not yet even experienced. 

When spring term came around, people still complained about their schedules—but after that got old, people began to concede that the schedule was indeed growing on them. This is an example of complaining. Complaining is finding problems that annoy you. And it’s easy, rewarding, and keeps you in the loop.

On the other end of the spectrum, actually criticizing something is difficult. When you criticize a government, you aren’t complaining about it. You’re setting out to find systematic issues that are a lot more than just annoying. And Exeter is built on constructive criticism—take Exonians Against Sexual Assault (EASA), inspired by the criticism of past Exonians who found genuine problems with our school’s approach to sexual violence. Or the massive (albeit imperfect) reforms our school has made towards mental health. That kind of difficult “problem seeking” is worth it. Complaining is just a form of immature justice.

It even infiltrates how you do academically. There’s a stark difference between stating: “I have to do this,” and “I get to do this.” For example, I have a peer in my Latin class who excels at the language. Every time he learns something new in class, instead of complaining, he’s visibly excited. Whenever he has to translate a difficult passage, he is incredibly obsessed. Instead of pushing away short-term agency by subconsciously resisting learning, he is already in the habit of leaning into learning. That’s exactly how he has conditioned his brain to translate Latin fluently—simply because his subconscious mind doesn’t find it annoying to do so. 

Mind this—there’s a difference between something that is difficult and something that is annoying. Difficulty is objective. Annoyance is subjective—and it comes from how you perceive the world, and your habit of complaining. 

Nothing is too small or big to complain about at Exeter. You can complain about something as small as a homework assignment, or as big as our schedule. If your instinct is to be annoyed by everything, then, I apologize, you will be annoyed by everything. Complaining will infiltrate your attitude towards everything. You cannot isolate complaining for only one part of your life, and not also begin complaining about something else. 

So how do we solve this problem? The problem is systematic, in fact. The jello which suspends our individual consciousnesses is stress. Complaining is therefore the natural way that Exonians go about making friends. I can only advise you, the reader, this. 

Fake it until you make it. As Malcolm Gladwell outlines in his book “Blink,” physical expression and emotion are intertwined. If you feel sad, you will frown. If you feel happy, you will smile. But the reverse is also true. If you crease your brows, you will begin to feel angry. 

So that means that, if you pretend to be annoyed, by verbally and physically complaining to your friends, eventually, you will actually be annoyed. You can twist that, though. Pay attention to your reactions, and change them slowly.

Eventually, over days and months, you will develop a new mental habit, one that is enthusiastic about learning—purely through changing your physical expression! And conveniently, once you are enthusiastic, you can begin to criticize the school on a rational, more essential level.

Then, when you find something wrong with the school, evaluate your opinion critically. Read books, advocate, organize, and do what all Exonians do best—make great changes in the world. But complaining will get you nothing. 

In this article, I criticized complaining. But maybe I was complaining about complaining, and I just didn’t realize it. The truth is clear, though. Complaining, as fun as it is, isn’t very helpful. Tend towards criticism, less towards complaint.