Recently, a friend of mine shared an article from Dr.Glenn Doyle that dealt primarily with the virtue of learning how to sit still inside our individual pain—instead of running away with the help of drugs, alcohol, sex, porn, shopping, rage or anything really.
Of course, the topic is not a new idea. It’s been discussed by everyone from Aristotle to Confucius. For my money, Rilke’s eighth letter in Letters To A Young Poet will always be the most powerful and eloquent explanations of the importance of sitting still for sadness in all of literary history:
“And that is why it is so important to be solitary and attentive when one is sad: because the seemingly uneventful and motionless moment when our future steps into us is so much closer to life than that other loud and accidental point of time when it happens to us as if from outside. The quieter we are, the more patient and open we are in our sadnesses, the more deeply and serenely the new presence can enter us, and the more we can make it our own, the more it becomes our fate; and later on, when it “happens” (that is, steps forth out of us to other people), we will feel related and close to it in our innermost being.”
In other words, it is only through the unenviable discipline of sitting quietly with our emotional pain that can keep us from becoming woefully detached from both it and ourselves. A cursory look around is all one needs in order to come to terms with how rarely people do this. We are a population whose greatest natural resource is distraction. It is everywhere.
I always seem to find myself in a state of despair at this time of year. Usually it’s a romance that’s gone belly up, but this year it’s not. It feels a lot more existential and threatening now. It’s not even just because some dude is spending more time with my kids than I am, either. It’s deeper. Something that seems to be happening on a molecular level.
I’m afraid to make any predictions at this point, but it feels like I have arrived at either the end of something or the beginning of something. Both things look exactly the same until you hold them up to the light. I haven’t been able to do that yet.
It’s like that feeling where your checking account is dwindling, so you just stop checking the balance until the following payday. Looking before then will just cause unnecessary anxiety.
I came to terms with an uncomfortable truth recently and often wonder if the universe is trying to get me to learn one important thing before my time on earth expires. An ex-girlfriend of mine just suffered a devastating loss. Her lifelong best friend died suddenly and unexpectedly. I saw the posts on Facebook and my fingers were paralyzed. We didn’t have the nicest breakup and I figured the last thing she would want is my condolences.
She, on the other hand, read my last article and reached out a few days ago. She told me she experienced the same pain I was bemoaning and she wanted me to know she understood. No empty platitudes, no “do it for the Gipper” speech—simply, in spite of the fact that we have moved on, I still see you and I recognize your hurt.
I don’t really deserve anything like that, but you can imagine what it felt like to get that call. In a matter of moments, another human being was able to make me feel a lot less alone in the world. Something I probably could’ve done for her if my first thought wasn’t always how terrible I’d feel if I got rejected. Or, to make it a lot less wordy, if my first thought wasn’t always about me.
This is something that I know my therapist is trying so hard to get me to see. Even with the situation I wrote about last week, she wants desperately for me to not just accept it, but to be happy that my kids are experiencing even more love in their lives than they had before.
I admitted to her that I’m light years away from that. The biggest problem I have with embracing my children’s mother’s happiness is that it feels emasculating. Not just that I’m friendly to the guy sleeping with my ex, I’m being friendly to the guy who my kids are going to get used to leaning on when they need a male presence.
So to accept it graciously feels a lot like inviting the world to steamroll right over me and thanking it for the opportunity. I mean, Christ, I never claimed to be Eckhart Tolle. My sensibilities are closer to my Italian American heritage. In other words, fongool.
I can honestly look at myself in the mirror and know, in my heart, I gave everything to not be in this situation a second time. Again, though, I’m straying from the larger lesson. That being that this situation strikes out at the very core of my deep rooted trauma—the pain from which all of my issues originated.
And so, as I hinted, this might be the ultimate lesson for me with the time I have left on the planet. Arriving at the place where I can stop feeling like I am less than everyone else.
Because regardless of who lives where and who’s screwing who, it is only when and if I get there that I can be of any real use to others. When I can call someone and say, with honesty, I see you. I recognize your pain.
Then I can say I contributed a little something in this world.
So much in that story, known as your life, Billy. Thank you again for expressing it all and being willing to look at it from different angles. Even the tone from last week's story has shifted as your processing continues. Kudos to your ex for extending the olive branch, that's not an easy task on either end. You are so right, you are definitely not alone. Keep writing and playing and loving your girls until the moment of truth presents itself. It sucks & I'm so sorry. We are here for all of it, sending love and hugs.
Thank you, Billy, for opening your heart, and your pain. This so vividly expresses your inner pain, honestly and that is something humans rarely do. Thank you, and much love to you. This is a gift to your readers; it is of benefit. 🙏