The cost of happiness
The simple fact of existing in this world means you will be, at times,
subjected to loss. There's very few things that you will ever be able
to fully hold on to forever. Mainly because forever doesn't exist, and
life itself is very finite. But even so, nothing remains the same.
subjected to loss. There's very few things that you will ever be able
to fully hold on to forever. Mainly because forever doesn't exist, and
life itself is very finite. But even so, nothing remains the same.
Unfortunately, during our time here, life will eventually strip you of
everything you hold most dear to you, and remind you every so often of
just how cruel "existing" itself can be.
Choose wisely.
everything you hold most dear to you, and remind you every so often of
just how cruel "existing" itself can be.
We will feel deceived, and foolish, and wronged in ways that we feel is incomprehensible.
We ask how it is that the person we loved so much, could speak to us
with words that even our worst enemies would feel is harsh. How could
they use the pieces we gave them that we felt were so fragile, that made
us feel vulnerable, and create a jagged sword with it, and slice us
apart with it? How could they ask us to open up who we are to them, and
tear our walls down so that they could be close to us, only to use that
proximity to run that jagged blade up our spine?
with words that even our worst enemies would feel is harsh. How could
they use the pieces we gave them that we felt were so fragile, that made
us feel vulnerable, and create a jagged sword with it, and slice us
apart with it? How could they ask us to open up who we are to them, and
tear our walls down so that they could be close to us, only to use that
proximity to run that jagged blade up our spine?
But they will. The people we love the most, will hurt us the most. For no other reason than they have the ability to do so.
The people that were once our "safe place" will at times, become
something entirely different. They will emotionally enslave us and
become our tormentors, dragging us across a bed of nails all the while
telling us it's entirely our fault.
something entirely different. They will emotionally enslave us and
become our tormentors, dragging us across a bed of nails all the while
telling us it's entirely our fault.
And unfortunately, you too will play the role of tormentor at times as
well. Intermittently donning the masks of both tragedy or comedy.
Playing both the roles of both puppeteer, and puppet. You will be both
victim, and assailant.
well. Intermittently donning the masks of both tragedy or comedy.
Playing both the roles of both puppeteer, and puppet. You will be both
victim, and assailant.
We so readily identify when we are the victim, or the puppet. Those
moments are incredibly apparent to us. The times when we are lied to,
betrayed, scorned, rejected, dismissed, or cast aside. Or even
worse...that our needs or feelings be looked upon with apathy or
indifference.
moments are incredibly apparent to us. The times when we are lied to,
betrayed, scorned, rejected, dismissed, or cast aside. Or even
worse...that our needs or feelings be looked upon with apathy or
indifference.
"How could they just not care at all?"
There will also be things that are completely out of our control altogether.
We will wonder how it is that our child, or mother, or father, or
husband, or wife, or significant other could be stricken with cancer, or
some other terminal disease. We will ask how "fair" is it that they
could be taken from us, when we love them more than the oxygen we
breathe, and are every reason we even continue to want existence.
husband, or wife, or significant other could be stricken with cancer, or
some other terminal disease. We will ask how "fair" is it that they
could be taken from us, when we love them more than the oxygen we
breathe, and are every reason we even continue to want existence.
How "fair" is it that some asshole ran a red light and now we have to
sit and watch a loved one cling to life in a hospital bed? How fair is
it that we have to watch them suffer so tremendously for a wrong they
didn't commit?
sit and watch a loved one cling to life in a hospital bed? How fair is
it that we have to watch them suffer so tremendously for a wrong they
didn't commit?
All of these moments engrave that very old cliche that "life isn't fair"
deeply into us. And we will come to understand that no matter how
"good" we are we will suffer. We will come to know loss, despair, and
grief.
deeply into us. And we will come to understand that no matter how
"good" we are we will suffer. We will come to know loss, despair, and
grief.
It is completely inevitable.
What is also inevitable, is that life always gives something in exchange
for whatever it took from you. No matter what anyone tells you, there
is no such thing as a "no win" situation. But there's also no such
thing as a "no lose" situation either. When something is taken from
you, something will remain in its place. It's not always apparent to us
at first, but it's there. It often just takes time for the fog to be
lifted, and for our eyes to be opened to it. It's what creates the
"what I know now..." in us. Even if those moments of loss only create
the awareness of loss, then that alone creates experience and
association. Wisdom is invaluable, and for most of us, the cost of
attaining wisdom can be very high.
for whatever it took from you. No matter what anyone tells you, there
is no such thing as a "no win" situation. But there's also no such
thing as a "no lose" situation either. When something is taken from
you, something will remain in its place. It's not always apparent to us
at first, but it's there. It often just takes time for the fog to be
lifted, and for our eyes to be opened to it. It's what creates the
"what I know now..." in us. Even if those moments of loss only create
the awareness of loss, then that alone creates experience and
association. Wisdom is invaluable, and for most of us, the cost of
attaining wisdom can be very high.
Loss serves many purposes outside of bestowing wisdom upon us. It's a
reminder to us that we grieve because we loved what something was. That
at one time, we held something uniquely special to us. Loss reminds us
of our own mortality, and the mortality of the people and things we
love. Loss is often what gives us appreciation.
A few years ago, I lost the best dog I ever had. My bullmastiff, Dozer.
He was with me for 11 years, and the love I had for him was greater
than that of any dog I had ever owned. I had driven hours and hours to a
farm to pick him up. I brought him home and he and my daughter, who
was only 2 at the time, bonded immediately. As a pup he followed her
everywhere, and they played together constantly. When he matured into a
stout and powerful stud, he played the role of protector and guardian.
If I wrestled or roughoused with her, he'd immediately let me know that
he did not approve. If the gate to the fence was left open in the
backyard, he would not leave the yard. He would stand watch. Making
sure that no one dare enter the yard, and that his playmate was safe.
A man from the gas company learned this lesson the hard way when he
opened said gate, and Dozer charged him full throttle. I'm fairly
certain he pissed himself trying to get back out of the yard.
Dozer hated when we left him to go on vacation. He hated the kennel.
He let me know this by tearing up his favorite blanket and bed while he
was "imprisoned" there (I'm sure that's the word he would have used if
he had been able to talk).
So the next time, we left him at home, with the dog door open and let the neighbors check on him.
When I returned home, he woke me in the night by getting right in my
face while I was sleeping. He never came into the bedroom, so I knew
something was up. He strolled casually back into the living room where
he then sat right beside the elephant sized turd he put on the floor for
me. Again, his protest for being left alone for too long.
After that, he always came on vacation with me.
Dozer was the strongest and most vibrant dog I had ever owned. He was
135 pounds of lean muscle, and when he ran it was almost majestic
looking. He was so handsome that if I took him anywhere, anyone that
saw him immediately had to come pet him, and marvel at what a specimen
he was.
Dozer died from cancer. It whittled him down to just a mere shell of
what he was practically overnight. When we gave him his last bath
before the trip to the vet, he was so weak we had to help him out of the
tub. The same dog that would jump into my passenger seat, and slobber
incessantly in my face, now had to be lifted into the car and placed
gently in it, and he collapsed on the seat.
Life took away what he was. And it took away something I loved so deeply.
A few days after he passed, I was getting ready for bed and going
through my usual routine of walking through the house, checking all of
the windows and doors to make sure they were locked. After my final
check of the front door, I turned to kneel down and hug my buddy
goodnight, as I had for the past 11 years.
Lost in "routine", I forgot that he was no longer there. And my legs
gave way beneath me, and I fell to the floor, and sobbed for hours.
We will never understand how sweet something actually is, without
understanding what bitter tastes like. We cannot truly appreciate the
comfort of the light, without knowing the cold depths of the pitch
black. And it is up to us to inhale as much of those sweet moments as
we can, because they are not forever. It is up to us to bask as long as
we can in the warmth of that light, because eventually the darkness
will return.
It is also up to us to remind ourselves, that when the bitter is so sour
that it contorts our face, and makes us wrench, that eventually the
sweet will return as well. It's up to us to remain steadfast in the
darkness, and not let it misshape us into something grotesque and ugly
when the light finds its way back to us.
Life will unstich us. It will empty us of resolve and deplete us of our
strength. It will also give us the chance to be restored and
resurrected into something new afterwards. Something stronger,
something wiser. But we have to allow ourselves to embrace the
understanding that we can't grow, or get better without loss. And we
have to come to the understanding that we can't allow loss to rob us of
those opportunities to become something stronger. Loss can make you
weak if you allow it. It can make you jaded and bitter if that is what
you choose. But ultimately, you get the choice to decide the mold and
shape of who you will be once the pain of loss has been lifted.
reminder to us that we grieve because we loved what something was. That
at one time, we held something uniquely special to us. Loss reminds us
of our own mortality, and the mortality of the people and things we
love. Loss is often what gives us appreciation.
A few years ago, I lost the best dog I ever had. My bullmastiff, Dozer.
He was with me for 11 years, and the love I had for him was greater
than that of any dog I had ever owned. I had driven hours and hours to a
farm to pick him up. I brought him home and he and my daughter, who
was only 2 at the time, bonded immediately. As a pup he followed her
everywhere, and they played together constantly. When he matured into a
stout and powerful stud, he played the role of protector and guardian.
If I wrestled or roughoused with her, he'd immediately let me know that
he did not approve. If the gate to the fence was left open in the
backyard, he would not leave the yard. He would stand watch. Making
sure that no one dare enter the yard, and that his playmate was safe.
A man from the gas company learned this lesson the hard way when he
opened said gate, and Dozer charged him full throttle. I'm fairly
certain he pissed himself trying to get back out of the yard.
Dozer hated when we left him to go on vacation. He hated the kennel.
He let me know this by tearing up his favorite blanket and bed while he
was "imprisoned" there (I'm sure that's the word he would have used if
he had been able to talk).
So the next time, we left him at home, with the dog door open and let the neighbors check on him.
When I returned home, he woke me in the night by getting right in my
face while I was sleeping. He never came into the bedroom, so I knew
something was up. He strolled casually back into the living room where
he then sat right beside the elephant sized turd he put on the floor for
me. Again, his protest for being left alone for too long.
After that, he always came on vacation with me.
Dozer was the strongest and most vibrant dog I had ever owned. He was
135 pounds of lean muscle, and when he ran it was almost majestic
looking. He was so handsome that if I took him anywhere, anyone that
saw him immediately had to come pet him, and marvel at what a specimen
he was.
Dozer died from cancer. It whittled him down to just a mere shell of
what he was practically overnight. When we gave him his last bath
before the trip to the vet, he was so weak we had to help him out of the
tub. The same dog that would jump into my passenger seat, and slobber
incessantly in my face, now had to be lifted into the car and placed
gently in it, and he collapsed on the seat.
Life took away what he was. And it took away something I loved so deeply.
A few days after he passed, I was getting ready for bed and going
through my usual routine of walking through the house, checking all of
the windows and doors to make sure they were locked. After my final
check of the front door, I turned to kneel down and hug my buddy
goodnight, as I had for the past 11 years.
Lost in "routine", I forgot that he was no longer there. And my legs
gave way beneath me, and I fell to the floor, and sobbed for hours.
We will never understand how sweet something actually is, without
understanding what bitter tastes like. We cannot truly appreciate the
comfort of the light, without knowing the cold depths of the pitch
black. And it is up to us to inhale as much of those sweet moments as
we can, because they are not forever. It is up to us to bask as long as
we can in the warmth of that light, because eventually the darkness
will return.
It is also up to us to remind ourselves, that when the bitter is so sour
that it contorts our face, and makes us wrench, that eventually the
sweet will return as well. It's up to us to remain steadfast in the
darkness, and not let it misshape us into something grotesque and ugly
when the light finds its way back to us.
Life will unstich us. It will empty us of resolve and deplete us of our
strength. It will also give us the chance to be restored and
resurrected into something new afterwards. Something stronger,
something wiser. But we have to allow ourselves to embrace the
understanding that we can't grow, or get better without loss. And we
have to come to the understanding that we can't allow loss to rob us of
those opportunities to become something stronger. Loss can make you
weak if you allow it. It can make you jaded and bitter if that is what
you choose. But ultimately, you get the choice to decide the mold and
shape of who you will be once the pain of loss has been lifted.
Choose wisely.
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