The gift of suffering
We were not suffering in this photo.
My friend and I saw a play at the Kennedy Center last night. It was lovely.
Things shutting down for a year made us appreciate being able to go out and do things. Since things have gone relatively back to normal, I’ve been treasuring every activity.
Jiujitsu. Climbing. Dinners. We never truly relish things until they’re taken away from us.
My coaching friend and I had a call yesterday before I left for DC. He was telling me about this five-day meditation retreat he experienced last week—just a month after his dad passed.
His biggest insight was the ability to lean into suffering. He told me, “You can’t have a lotus without mud.”
In other words, we can’t fully respect the highs unless we’ve felt the lows. We can’t bask in connection with others unless we’ve been lonely. Love means more to us when we’ve been heartbroken.
Despite my incredible tribe of friends and family, I’ve felt wildly alone in the past—like I had no one to talk to or share with. What a gift that was.
Now, when I have a conversation with a close friend, it’s almost like I enter a flow state. True present awareness. I feel nothing but gratitude and groundedness. But that’s only because I know what it’s like to long for that state.
Who appreciates a plate of food more: the rich kid who wants for nothing or the kid who almost starved to death?