Thanks, Grieving.

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Thanksgiving in the US is the time for celebration of abundance. Family and friends from all over the US country gathers over turkey (and tofurkey). We celebrate abundance of many kinds: relationships, food, warmth.
But there is one kind that is often ignored: the abundance of sorrow. The kind that is openly shared, appreciated and honored together.
"What's wrong with you, my friend? Why, out of all days, you choose to day to talk about grave matters?" You ask.
Maybe I have a perennial itch to have to probe behind the ordinary. Or maybe because sorrow is the gateway to something much richer: love. We only grieve for the people and things we truly love. As such, honoring our own sorrow and pain is a practice to open ourselves up to be with the world.
I picked a dozen of dead leaves for a healing ceremony online this weekend. Dead leaves are the most abundant during Fall here in New England, and what could be better to remind ourselves of the passing away of people, relationships, things?

A dozen of dead leaves, each with its own pattern of dying

This is not the macho "no pain, no gain" attitude. Rather, it is the sensitivity and imagination needed to see behind such pain a soaring love for the world. Without being in tuned with that deeper source, we risk re-enacting the same patterns that we don't want.
Two summers ago, after hanging out with young entrepreneur-wannabes in the Bay Area I wrote in my journal "I will only start a company if the issue makes me cry". It may sound extreme, but without that, I won't have enough commitment to pursue such journey. As a somewhat optimist, I found this perspective of "seeing behind pain" and the practice of honoring sorrow very helpful in keeping me grounded. I hope it will help other entrepreneurs too. (in business talk, it’s called “discovering customer’s pain points”)

Some get stuck in unbearable sadness. Others see nothing but opportunities. I believe that for a life well-lived, we need both. Sorrow without hope leads to eternal limbo of broken hearts. Hope without sorrow leads to groundless spinning-the-wheel actions.

Which brings me to a line in the poem Wild Geese by Mary Oliver has stuck with me since last week: "Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine."
Perhaps it's a combination of ending Fall with rusty leaves, cold weather, people coming and going and an ending chapter of my life (more to updates soon). Or perhaps, it's me exploring the darkness of the psyche. If anything, my recent light-hearted joking-around Wise Fool / Trickster personality will allow me to walk into such darkness with curiosity rather than fear.

What to do with despair

In her memoir Widening Circles, Joanna Macy writes about her experience facilitating a ritual for European citizens and activists. It was called "Truth Mandala", a circle that becomes the sacred ground on which everyone can express their utmost despairs about their lives and worlds.
have the immense luck to participate and facilitate in this ritual several times, and they have been the most heart-breaking and heart-opening experiences.
Anyone who aspires to do this kind of transformation work must wrestle with this conundrum: What do you do after you invite everyone to be vulnerable and open up themselves at that profound level? What is your responsibility there? Joanna recounts what she said to the circle, then drown in grief.

"I have no wisdom with which to meet your grief. But I can share this with you: after the war which almost destroyed their country, the German people determined they would do anything to spare their children the suffering they had known. They worked hard to provide them a safe, rich life. They created an economic miracle. They have their children everything - except for one thing. They did not give them their broken hearts. And their children have never forgiven them."

Does it sound eerily common? Nobody wants to make our loved ones feel sad. But maybe we have to.
"But I don't want our conversation to be dominated by such heaviness. I have enough of them already" A friend told me as I explained my interest in grief to her.
I find it helpful to frame it this way when it comes to the practice of sharing our grief: "I don't want you to suffer with me and I don't want your pity. But I want you to know that I have this pain, because you deserve to know this part of me that is broken and defeated".

This stuff is indeed an emotional heavy-lifting, reserved only for the experienced. Yet for the trust and connection that will grow, it's worth it. If you trust me enough to share your broken heart, I will share with you mine. Sorrow brings everyone together.
As a personal example, I have never seen my grandmom and mom cried in the same room before except for my grandpa's funeral. They mostly fought. As a public example, if you look at American politics now, you will see mostly anger. Which makes me wonder: why does anger seem to be more public than sorrow?

Some people say that anger is an "outward" emotion while sorrow is "inward". There is some truth to that. Many young activists act from a place of anger, sometimes even rage, without noticing their own pain leaking out to the world through their actions. It takes certain perceptiveness to see in oneself and in others that behind such anger is pain. A lot of it.

I believe our work and our world will be very much different with that awareness. More humane, caring, nourishing. Here, Thich Nhat Hanh has a helpful mantra: every interaction is either a loving response or a cry for help.
While anger divides "us vs them", sorrow is more generous: it spares no one. As a basic emotional ground for collective action, sorrow would be a better candidate.

On a more upbeat note…

This Thanksgiving, I was invited by a dear philosophy professor from Tufts for dinner. Her husband was also a Philosophy professor. What was amazing about their family was that each of them has an ex-partner, and all four of them were there. They have been attending Thanksgiving together for years, with their children too. What an inspiration for marriage.
My professor, Nancy, commented on this unique family arrangement: "We love each other a lot, but the logistics of marriage just didn't work out" Isn't it amazing that they managed to create a new arrangement out of what seems to be a mess? I wonder if it had to do with both being Philosophy professors - maybe they have thought enough about the human conditions.

Confession of a cynic in recovery

In the vein of dark thoughts, I recently wrote about my encounter with the amazing Frances Hesselbein, the ex-CEO of Girl Scout America. Yet unlike the usual rah-rah life-is-great, I take a more honest look at the experience and the mental wrestling I went through. Note: There is light at the end of the tunnel, but you may want to walk with me through it first. Cynical souls, I hope it resonates with you.

Cynicism

If you are like me, you will sometimes be repelled by people who talk about their achievements, either outright or in humble-bragging terms.

Why would Frances tell me about all those awards? She clearly wasn’t trying to impress or even inspire me. The answer is obvious to anyone but the cynics: it was just joyous for her to share the accomplishments of her life.

You see, cynicism is one of the most rampant mental diseases out there that plagued many unfortunate souls. As a recovery cynic, I know its symptom intimately: a constant doubt of other’s intention, an inability to receive good news and a dire lack of genuine joy and celebration in life.

What breaks my heart is how many young people contracted such heavy-dosed cynicism. It makes sense that more elderly people who have been burned by treacherous situations became cynical, but young ones?

Before, I used to associate such cynicism to the individual’s biological make-up and family upbringing. Maybe some of us were taught that the world out there was scary, that people would come and get us any moment we are careless. Life is about survival, and if we don’t keep winning then we will lose all respect. Now after getting to know my American peers, I started to understand the larger context. For Millennials to grow up in times of political turmoil of 9/11, pointless foreign wars, financial meltdowns as well as an overwhelming debts for a less and less relevant college degree, cynicism is the norm.

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See the full post here on Medium.

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