Problems upon problems
If you regularly read my essays, you know that life has been very “lifey” for me in the nine years since I turned 50. Though I resist making a litany of these challenges because it has proven to distract me from what is actually happening in my life right now, which is usually worth noticing, sharing some headlines now will give those of you who are newer to this blog a sense of things.
I kicked off my 50s by getting a frightening and confusing illness. Then the pandemic hit, and, just as frighteningly and confusingly, I decided suddenly to shutter my yoga studio. As if that weren’t enough upheaval, I have dedicated the past six years to the somehow simultaneously draining and life-giving work of loving family member after family member through dread illnesses, peppered with shocking and not-so-shocking losses and ensuing grief. As I said, life has been “lifey.”
My introverted survival skill of turtling when in a crisis has added to the suffering rather than saving me from any of it. Even though I know it’s not good for me, at times I’ve felt beleaguered enough to imagine that sharing “yet another” bit of bad news from “Amy Land” would probably seal the deal that I’m not the world’s most fun pal. In an effort not to be a “Debby Downer,” I tend to tuck myself away into my protective shell.
Suffering can beget more suffering or it can beget compassion
But I am a profoundly lucky woman when it comes to friends. There are people in my life who, in Kate Bowler’s words, do not see me and my mess as a problem to be solved. They see me as a person to be loved. When I disappear, these lovely friends quietly tap on my shell and tempt me to stick my head out into life once again. They offer me compassion rather than suggestions. They offer me a shoulder rather than advice. Their love for me is not at all dependent on things in my life going swimmingly.
To be honest, I remain confused that I ever imagined that it could be. This is what suffering does to a person. It confuses us. It also compounds – but not in a fruitful way like compound interest. We hurt and we retreat. The resulting isolation makes us hurt even more. And so it goes. Suffering quite easily begets more suffering.
It can work the other way, too. There is an instinctive human reaction to shrink away from people who are suffering. “What if their bum luck rubs off on me?” the lizard part of the brain seems to think. I used to think it must take real courage for someone to step toward someone else’s pain and suffering. What my own suffering has taught me is that what it really takes is compassion. I’ve also learned that this compassion – the understanding of what people need when they are suffering – often comes from having suffered oneself. So suffering also begets compassion.
A story of compassion
What does compassion look like in the real world? There are as many examples as there are people who have needed a little compassion. What touches someone may be the exact opposite of what helps someone else. Compassion is deeply personal.
I remember a long walk I took with a friend when my life was at its very “life-iest.” I took way longer than my rightful share of our time together to dump my latest heartaches into her ear. She listened attentively and then said, “Well that’s perfectly awful. I cannot believe that you are going through that.” We walked a little quietly, both of us with tears in our eyes, and then she turned to me and asked, “Do you want to hear the insane thing my sister did?” “Yes, I absolutely do!” I smiled. As she told the story, we wound up laughing so hard we were crying again – but an entirely different kind of tears.
For me, on that day, on that walk, compassion was a ridiculous story that reminded me that “normal” life was still out there unfolding. The story wasn’t intended to distract from or minimize what I was going through. Not at all. It was a gift from a friend who loves to laugh to me, who also loves to laugh. It was a tangible glimpse that, beneath my suffering, I was still me and I could still laugh. I loved it. I’m pretty sure my friend did too.
Compassion is not fixing. It’s loving.
It bears repeating that compassion rarely if ever involves fixing anything. Compassion is being present with someone in the present moment – even when that moment is messy or sad or scary or confusing. Compassion is remembering that the friend you love is still there even though she might be hidden behind her suffering. Compassion is listening. Compassion is showing up. Compassion is patience.
Finally, compassion is creative. It is a specific and special act of love that is perfectly tailored for the one who needs it right in that moment. Compassion like this can’t be planned. Opportunities to be creatively compassionate, like so much of the beauty in life, just show up – kind of like a really good laugh that you didn’t even know was exactly what you needed. It’s love that helps you notice these opportunities and that gives you the courage to step toward someone who is hurting in exactly the way they most need.
Like equanimity and friendliness, compassion (karuna) is one of the four qualities of mind that Patanjali teaches that we need to find lasting peace (Yoga Sutra 1.33). True compassion leads you to show up attentively exactly in this one present moment. It allows us not only to witness someone’s pain, but to remember who they are beyond that pain. When we are truly compassionate, love flows easily because all walls separating us and our suffering friend have disappeared.