The Gift of Life
29 Sep 2024
How much can things change in a year? Two years? I've heard countless times when friends and family would say, "I can't believe it's been a year already." And I wonder why they're so surprised. Maybe I'm the odd one out. But, one year is a long time. Long enough for things to change. Long enough for people to change.
Maybe we're all afraid of change. We get used to life being a certain way. And then, one day, it's not. Something feels off. Our hobbies start to feel boring. Friends start to feel distant. We can feel the ground beneath us shifting, and we start to grasp around for something to hold on to. But everything is slipping away. The screws are coming loose. The foundation we spent years building is starting to crumble.
The worst type of change is the one we don't see coming. We sense that something is wrong, but we can't put our finger on what it is. Then our friends start to notice. They can feel that something is off, and they ask if we're okay. We try to explain, but the words don't come out right. We want to tell them so bad that something is off. But the words just won't come. They see that we're struggling, and they want to help. But they don't know how. Not a single person in the room knows how.
So we all pretend that everything is okay. We nod, and we smile, and we reassure our friends that everything is okay. And they nod, and they smile, and they tell us that they're glad we're okay.
Who's idea was it that we should all pretend to be okay all the time? As if the truth—that life is not always sunshine and rainbows—is so loathsome that we can't openly talk about it, lest the infection spreads and everyone becomes sick. What happened to honesty as a virtue? When did we decide that keeping up appearances was more important than being honest and open about our own condition?
Perhaps there's more to be gained from being honest about our own moments of lostness and confusion. Maybe we can all benefit from being more open about our own struggles. This is not a call for a pity party. There's a big difference between being honest about our struggles and playing the victim card, and that difference lies in responsibility, and where we choose to place it.
Still, the merits of being more open about our struggles are many. At the very least, it's a great way to foster connection and understanding between people. In today's world where we're all so disconnected, a world where we can barely agree on anything because everyone has a voice now, maybe a little more honesty and openness about our own condition can help everyone feel a little less alone, and more understanding of each other.
Perhaps by sharing our struggles, we can help others find their way through their own. Maybe by giving a voice to our own moments of lostness, we can help others find their own voice to their own moments of lostness. It's not even a stretch to say that our hardships could even be a source of gratitude. We can learn to be thankful for our struggles, not just because they have shaped us into who we are, but also because they have given us the opportunity to connect with others just like us.
Suffering colors our lives in a way that nothing else can. It gives our lives depth. It fills our lives with meaning, purpose, connection, understanding, and gratitude. It makes our joyous moments all the sweeter and more precious, because it serves as the ultimate reminder of what it's like when those moments drift away, as they inevitably will.
There's a saying that life is suffering. But it's also a gift. And it's a gift, not despite of suffering, but precisely because of it.