Since I was a child, my mind has churned with words, language, sound. Thoughts parade through my head at night. By day, the speed and intensity of what comes up sometimes keeps me from dealing with basic tasks effectively. Doctors have tried medication to calm my thought storms, but the treatments either don't work or dull me, dimming my light.
My thoughts fray and tire me, but without them I'm not truly myself. So I go on, crazy but oddly productive in ways that are valuable to me.
My thoughts fray and tire me, but without them I'm not truly myself. So I go on, crazy but oddly productive in ways that are valuable to me.
Puns, rhymes, peculiar associations come to me at the most random of times. In this instance, it was in the middle of the night. I woke with this sentence in my head:
"The longest journey begins with a single misstep."
I smiled at the play on words my subconscious had handed me, and began to wonder if it meant something or was just funny talk. As I drifted back to sleep, I tried to think of times at which a misstep might be an auspicious start to a long journey. I woke a second time, maybe an hour later, with what felt like the answer. I jotted down a few sentences on the writing pad I keep next to the bed. Here's what I've distilled from my scribbled notes:
Aeschylus, in ancient Greece, may be the first person credited with the idea that wisdom comes through suffering alone. Buddha spoke at length about suffering as a tool of transformation. In the Bible, God says “I have refined you, but not in the way silver is refined. Rather, I have refined you in the furnace of suffering.” (Isaiah 48:10)
C.S. Lewis, speaking also of the Christian perspective, wrote in the early 20th century, “God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”
"The longest journey begins with a single misstep."
I smiled at the play on words my subconscious had handed me, and began to wonder if it meant something or was just funny talk. As I drifted back to sleep, I tried to think of times at which a misstep might be an auspicious start to a long journey. I woke a second time, maybe an hour later, with what felt like the answer. I jotted down a few sentences on the writing pad I keep next to the bed. Here's what I've distilled from my scribbled notes:Aeschylus, in ancient Greece, may be the first person credited with the idea that wisdom comes through suffering alone. Buddha spoke at length about suffering as a tool of transformation. In the Bible, God says “I have refined you, but not in the way silver is refined. Rather, I have refined you in the furnace of suffering.” (Isaiah 48:10)
C.S. Lewis, speaking also of the Christian perspective, wrote in the early 20th century, “God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”
I got a letter from my sister Peggy last week in which she talked about Lent. She wrote about the sacrifices and hunger for which she and Catholics worldwide volunteer with the goal of spiritual transformation. There is deprivation, hunger, an acknowledgment of darkness so unflinching that it is almost an embrace. The suffering, in this instance, is willfully created and invited in. It's bracing--my sister described it as like being doused in cold water--but fortifying.
Secular voices have been divided on the point: Dale Carnegie wrote that discouragement and failure are two of the surest stepping stones to success. But many of his contemporaries, and popular voices since then, have instead suggested ways to avoid adversity or inoculate ourselves against its ravages through positive affirmations, self confidence boosters, and a plucky, can-do attitude.
As I lay there in my darkened room, I thought about how this short term pragmatism--being able to blinder oneself and "keep a good perspective"--might conflict with what's ultimately best and most useful for us. By suggesting we champion adversity rather than allowing it and learning from it, have countless well-intentioned teachers stripped us of our most valuable lessons?
I then thought about what we showcase in our resumes. We highlight our successes, university degrees and achievements, hoping to be seen in the best possible light. We bury or minimize what we view as our trials and failures. Yet, if our goal is to present a global perspective on who we are, and our failures really tell the story more clearly than our cum laudes and awards, we are, ironically, leaving out the best parts of the story.
As a writer, I embrace secrets and untidiness in the lives of the characters I create. In the mid 1990s, I wrote a book manuscript called Splinters. It was about a deeply troubled middle American family, and the title was drawn from the same basic notion chasing me, now, in my dreams--that it's our scars and the shards of life that lodge beneath our skin which tell our story more honestly and rewardingly than the frilly parts.
So, I'm going with Aeschylus, Buddha and the architects of Christianity who believed slogging through the painful crap in life--and letting that be our finest teacher--far preferable to assiduously avoiding suffering through a process of anesthetization.
But if this is such great advice, why don't we heed it as a matter of course?
Because it is freaking difficult. It's making the conscious choice to chew on glass when there is milk and honey at the ready. It's remarkably counter-intuitive. It requires a willed reworking of our natural tendency to shy away from pain and make a dash for the arms of comfort.
What is the longest journey? To me, it is the one from here to enlightenment, to spiritual transformation. And without a costly misstep, or suffering, that journey can never even begin.
As I lay there in my darkened room, I thought about how this short term pragmatism--being able to blinder oneself and "keep a good perspective"--might conflict with what's ultimately best and most useful for us. By suggesting we champion adversity rather than allowing it and learning from it, have countless well-intentioned teachers stripped us of our most valuable lessons?
I then thought about what we showcase in our resumes. We highlight our successes, university degrees and achievements, hoping to be seen in the best possible light. We bury or minimize what we view as our trials and failures. Yet, if our goal is to present a global perspective on who we are, and our failures really tell the story more clearly than our cum laudes and awards, we are, ironically, leaving out the best parts of the story.
As a writer, I embrace secrets and untidiness in the lives of the characters I create. In the mid 1990s, I wrote a book manuscript called Splinters. It was about a deeply troubled middle American family, and the title was drawn from the same basic notion chasing me, now, in my dreams--that it's our scars and the shards of life that lodge beneath our skin which tell our story more honestly and rewardingly than the frilly parts.
So, I'm going with Aeschylus, Buddha and the architects of Christianity who believed slogging through the painful crap in life--and letting that be our finest teacher--far preferable to assiduously avoiding suffering through a process of anesthetization.
But if this is such great advice, why don't we heed it as a matter of course?
Because it is freaking difficult. It's making the conscious choice to chew on glass when there is milk and honey at the ready. It's remarkably counter-intuitive. It requires a willed reworking of our natural tendency to shy away from pain and make a dash for the arms of comfort.
What is the longest journey? To me, it is the one from here to enlightenment, to spiritual transformation. And without a costly misstep, or suffering, that journey can never even begin.
From the Christian perspective, you're not supposed to suffer for the sake of suffering. It should refine you, but you're supposed to depend on Jesus to get you through it (and periods of life going well).
ReplyDeleteI find your words inspiring as Christian I look always outward and I hope to add just a little more outward thought using a creative soul
ReplyDelete“Don’t play what’s there, play what’s not there.” - Miles Davis
With lessons, almost anyone can play some sort of music from the sheet in front of them. They can create a “serviceable” performance. But life, particularly a life of excellence, a life well-lived, is about moving beyond merely adequate, moving beyond the monotony of recitation. It’s about reaching deeper, past that exterior wrapper, and creating from the soul - adding that unique ingredient from inside.
The joy of life is about adding you to what you do. Do it!
Great thoughts! I have often told people that I counsel much of what you have said. And interestingly 99% of them, when they come out of the other side of suffering agree that it has made them a better person.
ReplyDeleteThe only thing that I might add is that in the midst of suffering a person needs someone to help them carry their "cross", so to speak. Looking at this from the Christian perspective, it is one of our responsibilities as brothers and sisters in Christ, to share in the sufferings of others.
My grandmother and I were discussing this very topic this morning. You can't have a future without a past, and it is those who have a difficult past and make it that are often the most revered. Because it is they who have fought and scrapped their way to the top, never letting go of their dream. Look at an ornate clay pot. The potter knew that he or she wanted to throw a clay pot, but things most likely happened along the way that changed the artistic direction of the pot; imperfections in the clay, the potters ability, new ideas, etc. The analogy in the Bible that addresses God as the potter and us as the clay holds a lot of truth. Things are thrown at us to shape and mold us. While I may not necessarily be Christian, but I do acknowledge that things do happen in order to change us and make us stronger. Everything happens for a reason. It just depends on what we choose to do on those moments of adversity as to the outcome. If you take the easy way, yes, you might reach your goal, but it may not be as rewarding as someone who took the long road to reach their goal. I, like you, always have a million thoughts going on throughout the day and night. One day listening to a song a thought crossed my mind, "Sometimes the longest road is the road to greatness." It may not be the prettiest road, but the destination is better than that of the easy way. With all good things come hardship, but if you aren't challenging yourself you are standing still.
ReplyDelete