Life's Utter Unpredictability and Pain

We've all recently experienced, either directly or indirectly, loss and heartbreak. Whether from two massive hurricanes decimating islands just off the coast of the continent, death of loved ones, illness, or other pain and grieving, our losses right now are edgy, raw, and real.

It was through a different lens that many of us viewed Rosh Hashanah and the Ten Days of Awe and Yom Kippur this year. Many of the familiar prayers took on a new breadth, depth and dimension. The contrast between what we hold as Eternal, and human frailty; our finite, human, and limited capacity to understand the numinous, and life’s utter unpredictability. And yet, at the end of the day, despite challenges and setbacks and failures and struggles, there remains the unyielding optimism and determination of our souls. We hear ourselves saying again, we will rebuild, even though there be a long road ahead.

What will we rebuild? In the case of roads and houses and buildings, we will rebuild the material. But what of the deeper losses? What of the loss of spouses, children, best friends, family members? These are irreplaceable. Our hearts ache more deeply than we can sometimes find words to describe. What of the loss of movement, independence, or memory as we age or face illness? These, also, yearn for comfort and replacement. And what of the times we cause our own heartache and pain, not necessarily intentionally, and maybe even because our intentions were good?

I watched a TV show the other week where a young woman had taken her life, and the family struggled to make sense of the tragedy. As the pieces of the puzzle came floating in bit by bit, one sibling realized that it was because her sister had tried so hard not to "ruin things" that she retracted the truth of her rape as a teen, that her attempt to not ruin things, in the end, ruined everything. The ripple effect of her pain had spread out and touched so many in a negative way, and on top of that was the loss of her life, and the rape of yet another teen because when her story was not believed, rather than "ruin everything," she had retracted her truth. And this ruined so much more. Her intention was good, and she was protecting herself, trying to deal with her pain, and trying to protect her family even though they refused to believe her. So yes, good intentions. This is but one example of a good intention bringing so much more irreparable heartache and pain further down the road.

How do we live with life's utter unpredictability and pain? How, then, shall we rebuild that which is not rebuildable? How shall we mend the tears in our hearts, our souls? How can we weather the storms which raze everything to the ground? How can we get up yet one more time after our dreams have been scattered to the winds, and our hearts have been shattered of the trust we once had?

Where do we find the courage, the strength, the resources to rebuild? How do we get up the next morning after burying our spouse? How do we fall asleep at night without the friend with whom we shared everything no longer there for us now? We reach out for help, and we are fortunate if a net is there for us to fall into, over and over, until we can begin to take those first tentative steps forward again. The community is our strength and our love until we can find strength and love within ourselves again.

But what of those situations where we have no other, no community there for us? What if we fall headlong over the cliff with no safety net to catch us? We reach out and grasp air flying past on our way down into the abyss. There is nothing to catch hold of and our free fall picks up speed. What of those times when no one knows the pain we bear, the burdens we carry, and the very person we would have reached out to a month ago is the very reason we are in free fall today?

These are the hardest times of all. I don't have all the answers, and am struggling to find them for myself. What I do know is this:

Loss can cause us to dig deep down into our souls and find our reserves of resilience. In the midst of great pain and heartache, of feeling alone in loss, we can choose which path to take: pessimism or optimism. There are no rules to follow, no handbook or guide to show us the way. While grief and loss will never diminish in size, what we can do is enlarge the scope of our lives so that in comparison, the loss grows smaller. Choose healthier things over less healthy things, whether this is food and drink or activities or even thoughts and behaviors. Take the risk of asking for help even if we think this person or thing can't offer any help. The worst answer is no, and we are no worse off than we were by not asking. Find ways to turn the tragedy into a gift: we start a support group, raise funds for a great cause such as cancer research or hurricane relief efforts, look for the lessons and remember the great parts, we let the loss soften our hearts so we can be more compassionate to others. Somehow, we must find a way to transform the loss into a legacy of love.

At the end of the day, this world is not for the faint-hearted. And while we might think that we would never choose the unpredictable course and pain that has moved into our lives, it is nevertheless the world in which we live. Resistance is futile. Acceptance is serenity.

We let the unpredictability and pain increase how often we say I love you. We learn to never ever be afraid to say I’m sorry. We know not to let our words be empty, to  not just be there FOR others, but to be there WITH others. There's a difference, and it's a significantly huge one.

This is not a practice run. While we might come back around on the soul level, in this incarnation, this is all we get. And this one wild life will be utterly unpredictable and sometimes, filled with pain and loss. Hold onto the belief that come what may, even the worst loss cannot keep eventual happiness from coming back, unless we make that choice. Different, yes. Nothing is permanent.

In the words of the ancient warrior-philosopher Marcus Aurelius, “Everything’s destiny is to change, to be transformed, to perish. So that new things can be born.”

What new thing can be born of this loss, this pain, this grieving? How can we become better people from the losses we go through? How can we find the courage and strength after falling seven times, that we get up and start again eight times?

One year from now I hope to look back at this time of struggle and loss and grief and  see that I found the courage to keep going, and that even if I never again have the kind of deep friendship I thought I had, I will have become a better person because of it. Even should I not have it again, that it will have been enough for this lifetime, and that I can stand again on my own, stronger than I was before.

So may it be.