Pain: The Universal Constant
Over the Holiday break our family had the opportunity to head up to our cabin in the nearby Sequoia national forest for a snowy night in the woods. For us, the cabin is a magical place providing distance from the frenetic pace of “regular” life in a place full of comfort, love, warmth and connection with nature and with each other.
The roads had been cleared of snow, or so we thought, and we made plans to head to dinner at the local restaurant. But on our drive through the small community we came upon a patch of ice and got stuck. Unable to get any traction we spent over an hour attempting to put on the new, fancy, self-tightening snow chains. After plenty of frozen hands, laying on the ice, and lots of slippery feet pushing on the back of our car, it was determined those chains were just not going to fit. Thanks to a local and a shovel we managed to rock the car enough to get it going while the rest of us walked the remaining ¼ mile to the restaurant. Thinking our adversities were behind us, we finally enjoyed a warm dinner while our extremities thawed and we made plans for the rest of the evening.
We knew there was another way out of the neighborhood and confirmed with the local waitress how we could get back to our cabin while avoiding said ice patch. We jumped in the car and began to head home. Yet on our route back it was darker than we remembered, there were more turns than we were expecting and it became clear fairly quickly that we were in trouble. We were counting on the momentum to keep us moving through the snow and assumed the road would soon turn in the direction we should be heading. But the road we chose was getting more and more narrow, the snow under our tires was getting deeper and deeper and the light of civilization was fading further and further into the background. At this point there was a slight turn off which we quickly took to try to turn ourselves around, which was unsuccessful. Oh, and did I mention that the whole way we had come that far was slightly downhill? It wasn’t pretty. We were stuck.
By this time we were long outside of cell reception and it was 9pm and did I mention we weren’t dressed for being out in the snow? We were just going to dinner, of course, why would we need snow boots and gloves and water and flashlights and blankets and, and, and….? In a last ditch effort we attempted the chains one more time with a MacGyver-style use of my boot shoelaces which, of course, did NOT work. All that was left was to send for help. Sherod walked away into the darkness and was gone too long. Then my two oldest boys followed into the darkness after him. And did I mention we were running out of gas? After hours of stress and waiting in the darkness my three guys came back to me declaring help was on the way. Relief was brief though as the tow truck did not show up for another hour and a half. Sherod left again to walk to cell coverage and found out the driver couldn’t find us because we were much further back into the woods than he thought. After another hour or so of waiting, a giant bulldozer came creeping around the corner flooding his lights onto our path. Evan, the local bulldozer man, hooked a heavy duty chain onto the front end loader of his equipment and strapped the other end onto the chassi of our car. He then proceeded to put that rig in reverse and crawled us up the hill to our freedom.
It all sounds quite benign actually when I write it out in summary here. But, frankly, the whole experience lasted over 7 hours and there were discussions of survival and “worst case scenarios”. It was tense, there were tears and anxiety was high. By the time we made it back to the cabin our nerves were shot and the fun times were over. I didn’t sleep much at all that night, reliving the mistakes we had made and the possible calamities that could have materialized.
Happy holidays everyone!
But these kinds of experiences, if given the right perspective, are what make life meaningful. We were given an opportunity that night. The experience we shared absolutely created an environment of anxiety, fear, fatigue and stress. And there was a LOT of it. I did a great deal of practicing mindfulness as my heart rate was spiking, body trembling, face flushing, etc. My body was feeling the effects of the cortisol rushing through me as my sympathetic nervous system was activated. And all of us were feeling it. Fun! But our family was given another opportunity as well and that was one of growth and learning. We learned, among many other things, that we could work together kindly and with level heads to survive, should it come to that. More specifically, I learned that I can withstand the pain and fear of such a harrowing experience and not lose it, or keel over from the fear.
The author Mark Manson, in his recent book, “Everything is F**ked: A Book about Hope” speaks about the presence of pain and how important it is in our lives. He says, “Life is one never-ending stream of pain, and to grow is not to find a way to avoid that stream but, rather, to dive into it and successfully navigate its depths.” In fact, he discusses this idea called antifragility, a concept first introduced by Professor Nassim Taleb, a scholar, statistician, and essayist. In it there are things that are fragile (must be protected at all times), like a vase that is easily broken. Then there are things that are robust (strong, resists change), like a steel beam that is very difficult to break. But, in addition, there is a third type of thing that is defined as antifragile, which is when something “increases in capability to thrive as a result of stressors, shocks, volatility, noise, mistakes, faults, attacks, or failures”.
In other words -- growing, learning and improving from pain.
This is illustrated clearly in relation to our physical bodies and exercise. We can sit on the couch and binge watch Real Housewives (#guilty) eating ice cream and avoiding all discomfort, cozy with our blanket and remote so we aren’t even required to move. Or we can add stress and “shock” to our muscles at the gym, alternately building muscle, bone density and maybe even a shadow of some ab muscles (#crossingfingers). Pain induces growth and positive change.
This can be applied to our mental and emotional lives as well. It’s called learning and it makes us better. I can feel the anxiety and fear of being stuck in the middle of the woods for hours in 23 degree temperatures without cell reception, water, food, or the proper clothing and learn that I can survive it. Not only can I survive it but I can learn that my family is pretty badass and will rally together to support one another in our time of need. I wouldn’t have learned that if we had frolicked back to the cabin to play board games and bake cookies as previously planned. Yes, it sucked -- I was certain my head would explode and my heart would beat right through my puffer vest. Yet look at the beautiful discovery that came out of it.
Antifragililty.
Pain happens and it's here to stay.
Embrace the suck.
But besides my particular experience and the fear for our safety, the pain of just being alive is always right around the corner. I’m sure each of us would agree that there are moments in every single day to experience pain. Physical pain, emotional pain, mental pain -- it’s there for the taking on a regular basis. And most of us are doing everything possible to avoid it. We distract ourselves from the pain of boredom by scrolling through social media. We buy more clothes or makeup or go on a diet to sidestep the pain of rejection or perceived rejection. We fill our lives with “to-do” lists of work/activities/sports/accomplishments to dodge the pain of insecurity and feeling as if we aren’t enough. And we avoid important conversations to sidestep the pain and discomfort those inevitably bring.
I’ve seen the result of avoiding painful conversations with a dear friend and her past and the damage it brought. I’ve also desperately desired to have a conversation with someone else who was unwilling to do so. To my great disappointment, they were incapable of tolerating the discomfort that discussion would bring. These things, in addition to our traumatic night in the woods, compelled me to face some of my own pain.
I have had a burning regret in my life for years. It involves my old life in the church and the effect it had on those that I love dearly. I’m a very different person than I was all those years ago. But I’ve had a nagging fear all this time of causing pain and heartache to my loved one because of that “old me”. There is no way to go back in time (until one of my highly intelligent sons finally invents that time machine I’ve been requesting) and change what I so desperately wish I could. The only thing I can offer that loved one now is my willingness to be sorry for that and sit in the pain with them and acknowledge it. So I decided to do just that. I reached out this week to have that conversation and my fears were realized. It was confirmed I did cause the pain and heartache I so fiercely was afraid to admit. And when I received that response the pain was real. I felt it deeply and viscerally. My first instinct was to run away from those feelings. I tried distracting myself with my book and then a TV show. But I soon realized that it wasn’t going away. I chose instead to lean into that pain and shame and regret and feel every bit of it.
And it was heartbreakingly beautiful.
I’m learning that pain might look or even feel like destruction in the moment you’re in it. But that actually is what it’s all about. That is where the moment of change happens. That is where beauty comes out on the other side.
“Because pain is the universal constant of life, the opportunities to grow from that pain are constant in life. All that is required is that we don’t numb it, that we don’t look away. All that is required is that we engage it and find the value and meaning in it.” -Mark Manson
I actually emailed Mark Manson a couple of weeks ago thanking him for his book and the insights and ideas it provided me -- specifically the concept of continual and painful growth and change in my life and accepting the reality of that. Well, Mark actually responded to me and he finished the email with this:
“It is a never-ending process but I do think it gets easier with time and age. I hope you experience that growing ease too. Don't give up! The battle is what makes it worth it. :)
Best of luck,
Mark”
The roads had been cleared of snow, or so we thought, and we made plans to head to dinner at the local restaurant. But on our drive through the small community we came upon a patch of ice and got stuck. Unable to get any traction we spent over an hour attempting to put on the new, fancy, self-tightening snow chains. After plenty of frozen hands, laying on the ice, and lots of slippery feet pushing on the back of our car, it was determined those chains were just not going to fit. Thanks to a local and a shovel we managed to rock the car enough to get it going while the rest of us walked the remaining ¼ mile to the restaurant. Thinking our adversities were behind us, we finally enjoyed a warm dinner while our extremities thawed and we made plans for the rest of the evening.
We knew there was another way out of the neighborhood and confirmed with the local waitress how we could get back to our cabin while avoiding said ice patch. We jumped in the car and began to head home. Yet on our route back it was darker than we remembered, there were more turns than we were expecting and it became clear fairly quickly that we were in trouble. We were counting on the momentum to keep us moving through the snow and assumed the road would soon turn in the direction we should be heading. But the road we chose was getting more and more narrow, the snow under our tires was getting deeper and deeper and the light of civilization was fading further and further into the background. At this point there was a slight turn off which we quickly took to try to turn ourselves around, which was unsuccessful. Oh, and did I mention that the whole way we had come that far was slightly downhill? It wasn’t pretty. We were stuck.
By this time we were long outside of cell reception and it was 9pm and did I mention we weren’t dressed for being out in the snow? We were just going to dinner, of course, why would we need snow boots and gloves and water and flashlights and blankets and, and, and….? In a last ditch effort we attempted the chains one more time with a MacGyver-style use of my boot shoelaces which, of course, did NOT work. All that was left was to send for help. Sherod walked away into the darkness and was gone too long. Then my two oldest boys followed into the darkness after him. And did I mention we were running out of gas? After hours of stress and waiting in the darkness my three guys came back to me declaring help was on the way. Relief was brief though as the tow truck did not show up for another hour and a half. Sherod left again to walk to cell coverage and found out the driver couldn’t find us because we were much further back into the woods than he thought. After another hour or so of waiting, a giant bulldozer came creeping around the corner flooding his lights onto our path. Evan, the local bulldozer man, hooked a heavy duty chain onto the front end loader of his equipment and strapped the other end onto the chassi of our car. He then proceeded to put that rig in reverse and crawled us up the hill to our freedom.
It all sounds quite benign actually when I write it out in summary here. But, frankly, the whole experience lasted over 7 hours and there were discussions of survival and “worst case scenarios”. It was tense, there were tears and anxiety was high. By the time we made it back to the cabin our nerves were shot and the fun times were over. I didn’t sleep much at all that night, reliving the mistakes we had made and the possible calamities that could have materialized.
Happy holidays everyone!
But these kinds of experiences, if given the right perspective, are what make life meaningful. We were given an opportunity that night. The experience we shared absolutely created an environment of anxiety, fear, fatigue and stress. And there was a LOT of it. I did a great deal of practicing mindfulness as my heart rate was spiking, body trembling, face flushing, etc. My body was feeling the effects of the cortisol rushing through me as my sympathetic nervous system was activated. And all of us were feeling it. Fun! But our family was given another opportunity as well and that was one of growth and learning. We learned, among many other things, that we could work together kindly and with level heads to survive, should it come to that. More specifically, I learned that I can withstand the pain and fear of such a harrowing experience and not lose it, or keel over from the fear.
The author Mark Manson, in his recent book, “Everything is F**ked: A Book about Hope” speaks about the presence of pain and how important it is in our lives. He says, “Life is one never-ending stream of pain, and to grow is not to find a way to avoid that stream but, rather, to dive into it and successfully navigate its depths.” In fact, he discusses this idea called antifragility, a concept first introduced by Professor Nassim Taleb, a scholar, statistician, and essayist. In it there are things that are fragile (must be protected at all times), like a vase that is easily broken. Then there are things that are robust (strong, resists change), like a steel beam that is very difficult to break. But, in addition, there is a third type of thing that is defined as antifragile, which is when something “increases in capability to thrive as a result of stressors, shocks, volatility, noise, mistakes, faults, attacks, or failures”.
In other words -- growing, learning and improving from pain.
This is illustrated clearly in relation to our physical bodies and exercise. We can sit on the couch and binge watch Real Housewives (#guilty) eating ice cream and avoiding all discomfort, cozy with our blanket and remote so we aren’t even required to move. Or we can add stress and “shock” to our muscles at the gym, alternately building muscle, bone density and maybe even a shadow of some ab muscles (#crossingfingers). Pain induces growth and positive change.
This can be applied to our mental and emotional lives as well. It’s called learning and it makes us better. I can feel the anxiety and fear of being stuck in the middle of the woods for hours in 23 degree temperatures without cell reception, water, food, or the proper clothing and learn that I can survive it. Not only can I survive it but I can learn that my family is pretty badass and will rally together to support one another in our time of need. I wouldn’t have learned that if we had frolicked back to the cabin to play board games and bake cookies as previously planned. Yes, it sucked -- I was certain my head would explode and my heart would beat right through my puffer vest. Yet look at the beautiful discovery that came out of it.
Antifragililty.
Pain happens and it's here to stay.
Embrace the suck.
But besides my particular experience and the fear for our safety, the pain of just being alive is always right around the corner. I’m sure each of us would agree that there are moments in every single day to experience pain. Physical pain, emotional pain, mental pain -- it’s there for the taking on a regular basis. And most of us are doing everything possible to avoid it. We distract ourselves from the pain of boredom by scrolling through social media. We buy more clothes or makeup or go on a diet to sidestep the pain of rejection or perceived rejection. We fill our lives with “to-do” lists of work/activities/sports/accomplishments to dodge the pain of insecurity and feeling as if we aren’t enough. And we avoid important conversations to sidestep the pain and discomfort those inevitably bring.
I’ve seen the result of avoiding painful conversations with a dear friend and her past and the damage it brought. I’ve also desperately desired to have a conversation with someone else who was unwilling to do so. To my great disappointment, they were incapable of tolerating the discomfort that discussion would bring. These things, in addition to our traumatic night in the woods, compelled me to face some of my own pain.
I have had a burning regret in my life for years. It involves my old life in the church and the effect it had on those that I love dearly. I’m a very different person than I was all those years ago. But I’ve had a nagging fear all this time of causing pain and heartache to my loved one because of that “old me”. There is no way to go back in time (until one of my highly intelligent sons finally invents that time machine I’ve been requesting) and change what I so desperately wish I could. The only thing I can offer that loved one now is my willingness to be sorry for that and sit in the pain with them and acknowledge it. So I decided to do just that. I reached out this week to have that conversation and my fears were realized. It was confirmed I did cause the pain and heartache I so fiercely was afraid to admit. And when I received that response the pain was real. I felt it deeply and viscerally. My first instinct was to run away from those feelings. I tried distracting myself with my book and then a TV show. But I soon realized that it wasn’t going away. I chose instead to lean into that pain and shame and regret and feel every bit of it.
And it was heartbreakingly beautiful.
“For a seed to achieve its greatest expression, it must come completely undone. The shell cracks, its insides come out and everything changes. To someone who doesn’t understand growth, it would look like complete destruction.” -Cynthia Occelli
I’m learning that pain might look or even feel like destruction in the moment you’re in it. But that actually is what it’s all about. That is where the moment of change happens. That is where beauty comes out on the other side.
“Because pain is the universal constant of life, the opportunities to grow from that pain are constant in life. All that is required is that we don’t numb it, that we don’t look away. All that is required is that we engage it and find the value and meaning in it.” -Mark Manson
I actually emailed Mark Manson a couple of weeks ago thanking him for his book and the insights and ideas it provided me -- specifically the concept of continual and painful growth and change in my life and accepting the reality of that. Well, Mark actually responded to me and he finished the email with this:
“It is a never-ending process but I do think it gets easier with time and age. I hope you experience that growing ease too. Don't give up! The battle is what makes it worth it. :)
Best of luck,
Mark”
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