Sad is good.

Morning rush of writing.

Hope you enjoy it.

SAD IS GOOD

I am extremely moved by Eastern thought, and love one of the principles of many approaches that sees suffering as a crucially important element in -- if not the definition of -- life.

In our society, we desperately try to deny it. "Move on!" "Screw you!" I'm out of here!" "I don't *need* this." "Be happy! Be happy! Be happy!” Rise above it! It rings from the hollows of our cells...every magazine shouts ways to be happy! Every TV show reminds us that a pill will take away our chemical imbalances, because God forbid one feel a sadness tat lasts more than 48 hours! Every friend wants us to “be happy!” We strive after the elusive state constantly, and we are perplexed when we simply do not reach that blissful state with some lasting stability. Problems throw us off track, and life’s guaranteed unfairness will topple the smiley-face. Many people say, “I have never felt 'happy' as others seem to.”  Or all too commonly,  they feel self-recrimination for not being smiling hap-hap-happy puppets. I hear many people, people who have good reasons for feeling very sad, say, in embarrassment, "I just can't sake it...what is *wrong* with me (nothing)!?" Society tries its best to pull us, as soon as possible, from our sadness and heartbreaks. “Let’s not talk about *that,” people suggest, meaning well, and promoting the illusion of attainable happiness that can *replace* sadness.

It can not. In our extraordinary spectrum of spiritual and emotional potential there is a reason and a truth to the dark side of it. To deny the days of sadness is to deny the reality of life, and the depth of our own vast emotional breadth. 

To run from heartbreak is to deny an entire side of your makeup. 

I am not referring to longstanding, profound depression, from which I have also suffered. I am talking about the dirt of everyday living. The messy, risky, emotional minefield of LIFE. 

Our society is so paranoically  bent on getting (back?) to "happy" that people praise us for our "resilience (I detest the use of this word to justify and tout people’s stuffing and hiding their pain, especially when used in describing children)" and “come-back," and encourage us to forget! Come out! Have a good time! Screw them! Get over it! Move on! Cheer up! Smile!

We are encouraged, constantly, to *not* be sad, to *not* be heartbroken, to *not* be discouraged, to not be grieving. We are even accuse of being self-sorry, or of *wanting* to be sad. How absurd! I do not want to be sad...I do not want to stay sad, it it is a guaranteed part of what life is. 

There is a place, and a honor due to our negative feelings. There is a life to our heartbreak, and it will bloom in myriad ways if we stubbornly deny its existence, or play to “get over it” sooner than it is truly “over.” It WILL be present in us, in uncontrolled, inefficient, un-beneficial ways, if we shove it down. 

We blame ourselves for feeling bad,we blame ourselves for not popping back and doing all of the superficial remedies that people rush to (going to the gym or the bar; doing “fun” rings with friends; etc. etc.). We chastise ourselves for not popping to the call and making that smiley-face and acting happy. We are so cruel to ourselves. 

Frankly, when I am heartbroken, it is very difficult for me to do these "happy" things with a true spirit. I am false and I am lying when I subscribe to others insistence of “happiness” and choke forth a jovial countenance. The door shuts, and I dive to darkness once more. I am ashamed of my heartbreak. I have been taught to be so, both by family and by society, which is bent, to a point of madness, on denying its existence. I mean, it’s OK to feel sad for a short time, but if your pain lingers, that is cause for the average Joe’s worry and distaste. 

I am NOT talking about being a mopey-joe.  I find nothing more repugnant than the self-sorry person whose martyrdom drips like a sticky, immobilizing syrup. I am talking about *honoring* our sad times, and allowing ourselves first, then others, to know —  that yes, we’re OK, but we are feeling sad. Period. No it is not the end of the world. We are not going to toss ourselves from the bridge nor slash our wrists, even though we feel that way. We are simply, and beautifully sorrowful. Nothing to “correct.” Nothing that we have to live up to. 

I know that while I have been down, I isolate, because I am ashamed of presenting a continuous presentation of sadness. People judge.  I keep it to myself. 

And I love the friends who simply accept that I have days that feel like hell. Like shit. Those who sympathize and also support. It does not take a lot to make me smile and laugh. I love so many things about life that even when heartbroken, I look out my window at the birds that I feed every day, I hug my little fat doggie, and I drink tea that tastes delicious. In the darkness there are smiles and pleasures. And it can live together. 

I was living in Spain, and had been offered a wonderful job in Barcelona, the city I really wanted to live in, when my Dad called me and told me that he’d been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. That was that. I moved home, and into his house, and helped care for him until he died. Shortly after Dad died, I returned to work, a teaching job that I had in Costa Mesa (Orange County, Southern CA).

I will never, ever forget something that happened that impressed me in a way I will always, always love. Among the many, almost creepily constant expressions (by very kind, well-meaning people) of “Oh, I am so sorry,” and “He is no longer in pain,” I was bowled over, completely, and so unexpectedly comforted when Linda, a robust, beautiful colleague, said, “It is *shit,* isn’t it. My parents died over twenty years ago and I still hurt for them every day.” 

Her lovely, lovely understanding, her blunt proclamation of THE TRUTH…was so welcome to me that it somehow effected a shift in my heart that very night. I will never, ever forget that moment of sadness-acknowlegement. 

People are highly uncomfortable with anything but “happy.” As a grief counselor, I see the consequences of this societal madness…and if you have lost someone, about whom your heart is shattered, you know well of what I speak — there is NO PLACE for it in everyday life…people don’t want to know, they don’t want to “handle it,” they don’t know what to say or do, and they shut it down. There is no isolation as deep as that of profound grief in a world that does not acknowledge it, after the sympathy cards are sent and the services are over and cleaned up. You are on your own. And this is a heartbreak and alone-ness with acutely painful aspect. 

Pain, heartbreak, love lost, disillusion, meted unfairness, and disappointment *are staples of this human life.* There is no constant “happy,” even though so many would like to imagine it to be so. And, though “happy” is a good thing, the honorable PLACE that the negative emotions deserve and *function* in is also profoundly healing and above all, spirit deepening and compassion-building. A shattered heart can learn to be exquisitely sensitive and loving. A painful disillusion can be searched through and felt…toward a growing of an accepting attitude and grace toward life and importantly, toward ourselves. 

As someone whose heart hurts all too often, I am intrigued by what I believe to be true, though still practice hard, to do -- and that is acting on the concept of *approaching* pain, diving into the heartbreak, sleeping with the fear and hurt, and allowing it all to BE, without prescribed remedy, and PARTICULARLY WITHOUT self-judgment. In fact, the way through it is to give yourself credit for allowing the simple presence of pain to lie next to you, without judging yourself, without having to find that answer o-u-t.

At our most dark, we tend to see ourselves in negative terms also. You who know me know that it would be very easy for me to go on about this, but I must get going. The bottom line: self-negativity while we are down robs the experience of teaching and learning potential. It robs us of our natural possibility for deepening our spirits and hearts, and it robs us of our dignity. We need to stop that, me first. 

Love, and happy Sunday to all, Joana