The Evolution of Suffering

Posted on by stilllearning2b
suffering

In the beginning, I embodied the pain.

It was thick, viscous. Its foulness touching every part of my being until I no longer knew where I ended and the suffering began. I could no more escape its malevolent embrace than I could pull peanut butter from a child’s hair. We were one, the suffering and I. My anguish kept it fed and in return, it kept me company. I may not have had my marriage but I had the suffering that was left behind.

But slowly, ever so slowly, the anguish started to fade. The loss grew more distant and hope grew ever closer. Starved of its preferred sustenance, the suffering started to wither. Its suffocating heft grew to more manageable dimensions and its once viscous nature grew thinner. Weaker.

I felt the pain.

I would have moments, even days, where the suffering was unseen. But its absence was always short-lived and my brain had a trigger-finger that would herald its return at the slightest provocation. My body held the memories like the discs in a juke-box, ready to play with the touch of a button. As long as I didn’t approach, I was okay. But as soon as I recounted the tale, my voice would tremble and the pain would come rushing back as though it had been lying in wait.

And so I kept telling the story. And with each retelling, the heartache faded a little more. And the suffering grew weaker. My once constant companion became like a distant friend – we may keep in touch on Facebook, but we have no real need for face to face.

I remembered the pain.

And yet I kept living. I would revisit earlier writings or conversations and marvel at the emotions I carried. I would reflect back on those endless nights and my emaciated and shaking frame. I could speak of the suffering, but only in the past tense, for it no longer touched my soul.

Unencumbered, I learned how to trust again. How to love again. How to be vulnerable again. I learned to tell the story without emotion. Because it didn’t happen to the Lisa of today. It happened to the Lisa of yesterday. And I no longer recognize her.

I appreciated the pain.

Not for the suffering it provided, but for the lessons hidden within. It is a path I would have never chosen, yet it has led to more glorious pastures than I could have ever envisioned.

If you carry it too long, suffering will weigh you down and seek to asphyxiate you with its heft. But carry it long enough, and that weight makes you stronger. Lighter. Better for the experience.

Everything changes.

Even suffering.

Scared of Love? You’re Not Alone

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I hear so many people proclaim that they never want to remarry. Or even to fall in love again. They’ve been bitten and now they’re shy.

Or, more accurately, scared of being hurt again.

I get it. It’s certainly safer to build those walls and live within.

Safer. But also limiting.

A life in a cage.

And I believe we’re meant to fly.

Even though we may fall sometimes.

This article on reasons why people are afraid of love came across my feed today. Read it. I related; I bet you will too.

And then let your fears be the beginning rather than the end.

Forest Fire

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Smokey the Bear tells us that only we can prevent forest fires.

But that’s not really true.

I mean we can avoid throwing lit cigarettes on top of dry pine needles and we can faithfully cover our campfires with dirt before retiring for the night. But those measures won’t stop the errant spark from catching a ride on a gust of wind. They won’t redirect the lightening’s path away from the dead wood that riddles a mature forest. Even the professionals, with their fire breaks and controlled burns can’t really stop forest fires. They can only hope to mitigate their damage.

Because forest fires are an inevitable part of nature and nature always has its way.

We tend to focus on the destructive properties of the fire. And certainly, when fire and civilization intersect, the results can be devastating. The loss is apparent in every charred stump, the once verdant forest transformed into an alien wasteland.

We focus on the loss because it is what we feel acutely. It is sudden and catastrophic. We cannot help but contrast the blackened skeletons with their once proud and rich forms.

But the fire is more than an ending. It is a beginning.

The conflagration clears away the dead and dying trees, making room for the seeds protected just below the soil to begin their journey to the sun. The blackened trunks enrich the soil, replacing nutrients that had been leached for centuries. Any illness that may have gripped the forest is extinguished with the flames, allowing an opportunity for new and healthy growth to emerge.

I’ve begun to see my divorce as a forest fire. Devastating. Destructive. Inevitable. Yet also cleansing, burning away all that was dead or dying or diseased. Leaving behind richer soil and brighter sun to nourish even better growth. And I’ve now gone from wandering lost through the charred stumps of the old growth to reveling in the beauty of the new.

So even though Smokey is wrong and we cannot prevent every forest fire, we can do our part and when they do happen, we can strive to see the potential hidden just beneath the newly exposed earth.

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When Gratitude is Your Wrapping Paper

Posted on by stilllearning2b

If someone had told me five years ago that I would ever be grateful for my tsunami divorce, I would have thought they were ignorant. Or cruel. Or, at the very least, utterly clueless and insensitive.

But, you know what?

They would have been right.

My divorce was a doozy: 16 years of what-I-thought-was wedded bliss suddenly amputated with a single text message. This was followed by the discovery of marital fraud and felony bigamy. In one instant, the life I had was gone and it was stolen by the man who had lovingly kissed me goodnight for my entire adult life.

Read the rest of the post here. 

 

Bone to Chew On

Posted on by stilllearning2b

There are days when Tiger needs a bone to chew on. Maybe he’s stressed because of some change in his environment. Maybe he needs to bleed excess energy because the weather hasn’t been conducive to walks or runs. Or, maybe he’s just bored and looking for something to do.

Regardless, he’ll get this certain look in his eye. There’s an intensity to it. A drive. A need. It’s like he’s saying, “Give me the chewy and no one gets hurt. If you chose not to supply the bone…”

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We’re really no different than Tiger.

We all require bones to chew on. Not real ones (I hope), but cerebral ones. Something that we can use to focus our mental energies upon. A passion or a problem that needs to be chewed on and whittled down. Something to turn to when we’re stressed or have excess energy to bleed or simply bored.

It’s best to have a whole box of bones available in case some run out or don’t taste right in the moment.

Because the thing about mental bones, is that if you don’t choose one, one may be chosen for you. And it may not be the one you want.

I have never felt this so acutely than I did in the months after my ex left. Before that point, gardening had been one of my favorite bones. It was relaxing and the mental selection and placement of plants could focus and calm my mind. But that bone was taken away when I had to leave my house and my garden. And because I didn’t have another at the ready, that passion was replaced with my ex and the details of the divorce.

I would worry away the details, chew on the possibilities and fixate on the loss.

It kept me focused and bled the excess energy, but it was not the bone I needed.

My first new bone after the divorce came as a bit of a surprise. I signed up for Match.com as a way to practice dating before commencing my planned move to Seattle. It turns out that online dating works pretty well for something to focus on. I went on countless dates and engaged in many more electronic flirtations. It wasn’t sustainable or healthy for the long run, but it allowed me to bury the bone of the divorce.

My next bone was more deliberate and wholesome. I started writing. This not only gave my mind a positive area on which to focus, it also served as a healing process of its own. As my life began to expand and settle once again, I continued to gather bones: blogging, racing and recently, gardening again.

How is your supply of cerebral chewies? Do you have a supply of positive ones or you gnawing on one that is harmful to your health? If you need one, ask Tiger. Maybe he’ll share:)

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