Hard Gratitudes
I woke this morning still melancholy—not depressed, not joyless, not demoralized...just a little “blue”—and as I reflected on what I’m feeling, I found myself face to face with what I once called my “demons” and now simply call “feelings.” They aren’t evil and I’m not their victim; rather, they are part of me and help to make me who I am. They, too, painful as they sometimes are, are worthy of my love. They, too, are things I can be grateful for (although it’s hard).
In the spirit of love, then, I want to express my gratitude for the hard things:
Loss
We all know loss, and it’s a hard thing to be grateful for. Even small kine losses—lost car keys, broken cell phones, a misplaced twenty—powerfully affect us, I think because, rightly or wrongly, we associate our belongings with ourselves. The loss of a cell phone is the loss of a part of us.
Without getting into whether or not this is “good” or “bad,” I just want to acknowledge it; when we lose even “small” things, we feel the loss.
How much more do we feel the loss of loved ones? When friends or family move far away, when important and meaningful relationships break, when pets and friends and family die...these are times that try our souls. Few would dispute that family and friends (and emotionally, pets are often “family”) really are part of us, and their loss—whether through a broken relationship or mortality—is, I think, as devastating as the loss of a limb or organ. We do lose a part of ourselves when we lose a family member or friend or pet.
How can I be grateful for events and experiences that cause such pain? Why would I even want to be grateful?
Loss is universal and inevitable. It is utterly democratic; all of us—rich or poor, powerful or powerless, respected or despised—suffer loss. Nothing—not money, not power, not honor—can insulate any of us from the experience of loss. And loss (and our response to loss) shapes us in powerful ways, but we can choose how we respond to loss and thereby choose how we will be shaped by it.
I choose to be grateful for loss; not that I’m glad to suffer it, but rather that I’m grateful for what it has to teach me.
Loss has taught me to treasure every moment I have with those I love. Loss has taught me the importance of those I’ve lost. Loss has taught me the value of relationships. Loss has helped me be more human.
Loneliness
Let me begin by saying that I am not lonely in the “I don’t have any friends” sense. I am rich in friends, rich beyond the dreams of Croesus, and I am grateful to be so blessed. I know no greater treasure than family and friends. The loneliness I’m talking about is very specific—it is the longing for a “companion” with whom to share awesomeness—and it seems inconsolable. It is my experience and I own it; your mileage may vary, but this is what I feel and it hurts, all the time. I don’t believe this makes me weak or flawed or damaged or foolish. Please try not to judge.
My two most persistent, lifelong, deeply felt desires go together:
- the desire to have and be a companion
- the desire to be a daddy
I am not (any longer) miserably lonely. I am deliriously happy with the life I have, and take great solace in my amazing family relationships and friendships. And while I don’t want to be this kind of lonely, I am grateful for my loneliness.
I’m grateful for my loneliness because its persistence—I’ve never fully resigned myself to companionlessness, not even for a moment, not even when I said I did, not even when I desperately wanted to—tells me something important about who I am and what I value. I’m grateful for my loneliness because it fosters empathy for others who are likewise alone. I’m grateful for my loneliness because (finally!) it makes me powerfully vulnerable to love in its myriad forms. I’m even grateful for that persistent ache; I think it’s what kept me grounded in humanity for all the years I shut the world out.
Betrayal
I can hear some of you mumbling already. “How can you be grateful for betrayal? Why would you even want to be? Betrayal hurts, and isn’t gratitude for something that hurts perilously close to masochism?”
Let me ’splain.
In choosing to be grateful for betrayal, I’m not excusing the action, nor am I justifying the pain or loss suffered. What I’m doing is reclaiming my love for those who betrayed me.
That’s right: from my perspective, I was betrayed by people I love, and yet I love them still. In order to get past the pain—in order to keep it from warping me into someone I don’t want to be—I must forgive, must find compassion for my “betrayers,” and must choose to be grateful; if not for the betrayal itself, then for the good that has come of it. Doing so lances the boil of festering resentment that might otherwise poison my being. I would rather love my betrayers than hate them (although they’ll never know either way) because loving is good for me.
There are other reasons for being grateful for betrayal: it’s good to know who you’re dealing with, sometimes the unintended consequences are amazing (it was a betrayal that brought be home to Maui), it is empowering to learn to deal with treatment you know you don’t deserve, there is dignity in maintaining equanimity in the face of undeserved ill treatment, and many others; we all know that good can come of adversity.
Yeah, I never thought I would be (despite ample reason to be), but I’m grateful for betrayal.
Disappointment
Disappointment is another universal. We all face it regularly. Once upon a time, I thought that I endured more disappointment than others, but I no longer think so; whether it’s true or not, it’s irrelevant, and comparisons do me more harm than good. Each of us has our own experience with disappointment, and (since each of us is at the center of our experience) our individual disappointments are the ones that matter most to us.
I’m grateful for disappointment because of what it teaches me: perseverance, acceptance, and adaptation, among other lessons. I used to allow disappointment to stop me in my tracks—“If ‘it’ didn’t work out,” I reasoned, “it isn’t meant to be”—but I’m learning that while there is yet breath, nothing is final. The new lesson—the one I’ve just begun to learn—is that disappointment is a product of expectation, and expectation (at least, expectation of specific outcomes) is not something I need in my life.
Disappointment, then, is another of my teachers, and I’m grateful for the lesson, even when I don’t enjoy it.
Just Because It’s Difficult...
...doesn’t mean it’s bad. The practice of gratitude, like so many spiritual practices, is ongoing and sometimes demanding. Melancholy drove me to reflect on these “Hard Gratitudes,” and reflecting has brought me a measure of peace. I wish you all peace and all joy and all gratitude this Thanksgiving Day.
All...the...aloha!
Location:Wailuku, Maui, HI, United States
