What’s the purpose of suffering?

In Christian circles, we’re told that one of the worst things you can say to someone suffering is that God has a plan. It’s not a great thing to say when the initial reaction would be, “That plan sucks!” It’s cold and minimizes the reality of the suffering.

And yet, as my Fibro dance grinds on, I have to consider the fact that God either ordained this, or allowed it. If that’s the case, it’s not random happenstance. There’s a purpose behind it. I’m supposed to take this experience and do something with it–other than become crotchety and bitter.

When something happens that you consider bad, why not consider the possibility that God ordained or allowed it, then assume he didn’t allow it because he’s a vindictive bastard trying to get back at you for that thing you did the other day?

What if it’s not bad, just difficult? What if you can use the challenging situation you’re in to make yourself better and help other people in a similar situation?

If you have to go through hell, why not be greedy about it and demand something in return for the shitstorm?

It requires a lot of work, but if there’s purpose in the pain, it’s not just this burden you have to shoulder every day. It’s a catalyst for something that wouldn’t have otherwise happened.

These blog posts–the journaling I’m doing, the study of stoic philosophy, the commitment to do something physical every single day (even if it’s just 45 minutes of stretching)–they’re all an effort to find the purpose in a difficult situation.

It’s hard work a lot of the time, but it makes the overall process easier.

And it allows me to maybe add something positive, especially if you’re struggling, too.

On judging

Yesterday’s verse of the day was from Matthew, simple and quick: Do not judge others and you will not be judged.

It’s hung with me since I’ve read it. And not comfortably.

I do my best not to allow my biases to shape how I view people. From the time I watched Hank Aaron get death threats for being good at his job, I didn’t understand hating someone for their skin color.

Yes, I have some innate biases around race and ethnicity, but I’m aware of them and do my best to discard them.

Beyond that, I tend to harshly judge what I fear. In 2010, I was a mess. My weight ballooned up and I had more or less checked out of life. I’d given up.

I probably topped out within a chip shot of 300 pounds and my knees ached all the time. It hurt to climb stairs.

When I see people who are way overweight, I dismiss them–because I fear the mindset that put me in that position. I never want to be that person again.

I also fear being stupid, backward, clueless. I like it when I’m mentally agile. It drives a lot of my identity.

So when people look stupid or clueless, I judge them with the harshness that comes from that fear.

Fear has a purpose, and it’s not a bad one. When my weight starts to creep up, my fear of going back to 2010 drives me to better decisions. When I feel myself getting intellectually lazy, my fear of stupidity drives me to do better.

But I don’t know what the people I dismiss know. They may have wisdom that I lack. They may have struggles and scars that would make my knees go weak.

Jesus said what he said. And justice is one of the four Stoic virtues. It’s not loving or just to scorn people because of a single visible trait. Especially when I’ve had that trait myself.

I want to be better. Because of the Fibro, I don’t have the luxury of seeking out stress and negativity.

There’s a certain level of discernment required to live an effective life. But judgement is often an exercise in searching for reasons why you’re better (or at least not as bad) as that guy over there.

It’s a human flaw I would be best to minimize in myself.

The power of waiting

My massage therapist has suggested I try intermittent fasting. She suggested a 14-10 cadence, where I limit myself to eating ten hours a day (and yes, they have to be consecutive). It’s turned out to be closer to 16-8 or even 18-6, which I’ve been able to manage.

This morning, I woke up ravenously hungry. It was a distraction as I showered and got dressed.

In the past, I’d have raced off and decided to end my fast because when hunger becomes a distraction, you need to eliminate it. And who likes being hungry when there’s food so readily available?

About two weeks into the intermittent fasting, I know better.

In many things, we give into that nagging, cloying voice that says we have to decide now. I’m hungry. There’s food. Eat it.

Eat it hard. Eat it fast. Eat it now.

In reality, the hunger passed, as it does. I’m doing the fasting for my own good. It’s supposed to help with inflammation. I’m doing it because I’m worth doing difficult things. In the past, I haven’t made that decision. Today, I am.

In our current microwave culture, we’re trained that decisions are required now. A good leader is swift and decisive, leading the charge from the front with certainty and immediacy. It builds an existence where people are always certain and sometimes right.

In reality, you can delay your decisions, not out of complacency, but to see what happens. You have the power to tell the impatient voices demanding resolution right this second that they can wait.

I didn’t decide not to eat; I decided to wait. I could reverse that decision at any time. If the hunger intensified–if my body told me that I really needed to eat, I could always make that decision. But it didn’t. So I stayed the course.

Don’t let your monkey brain force you to a premature decision. Let your snail brain defer the decision and see how it plays out.

You have the choice

Every day you’re blessed to wake up, it’s a certainty that someone will do something that annoys you. They may be oblivious, thoughtless, or vindictive, but it’s certain to happen. If I know this is inevitable, why do I treat it like an aberration?

I need to account for it. Expect it. Accept it. Don’t let it surprise me. Accommodate it and do my best to accept it with grace.

Also remember that as many times as someone does something thoughtless that annoys me, I’ve done the same to others. I probably never realized that I put them out–just as many of the people who annoy me never realized it.

In most cases, the thing that annoyed me marks the only time my path will cross theirs. They will never encounter me again. Do I want my one and only interaction with oother children of God to end with a scowl? Why not aim at least for indifference? The, once I’ve mastered that, shoot for acceptance and then maybe even love.

You don’t have to give into your anger. You are the mast of your emotions, not their servant.

I haven’t got time for the trolls

Marcus Aurelius said the best revenge is to not be like the person who performed the injury.

We all know someone who’s a troll, whose only purpose in life seems to be stirring the pot and adding drama to an otherwise stable situation. Their approach is to poke and poke until they can get someone to respond to it. And because the person responding has hit their tolerance, the response is like the pokes, but with extra irritation added.

Trolls succeed because they’re good at it. They’ve honed their skill set on the backs of others who’ve responded to their poking. They’re definitely better at it than the person who finally pushes back.

The response is typically met with either victimhood or intervention from a third party, who only sees the response–not the poking the led to it.

If you engage with a troll on their terms, you will lose. Every. Single. Time.

So don’t play their game. Play yours. Don’t let them set the terms of engagement. Don’t let them manipulate you and the situation until you become like them.

I’ve recently fallen into that trap. In a life where I’ve got other things to worry about (to paraphrase the great Carly Simon), I haven’t got time for the trolls.

I have important things to do today and getting tangled up in a troll’s flypaper isn’t one of them.

The greatest super power

This morning, I would rather have run.

The last two times I’ve run, I’ve crashed hard later in the day. Maybe it’s a pattern. Maybe it’s a coincidence, but for now, running seems like a bad idea. So this morning, I did 20 minutes on the elliptical, then walked for half an hour.

I didn’t burn 900 calories or come back with soaked clothes and a pleasant tightness in my legs. But I did what I could and took the win.

At various points, life will always limit you. It’ll take your good intentions and diminish them. You get to choose how you respond to that. You can take a fearful approach in which every speed bump is viewed as an evil aberration. Or you can take what life gives you, apply yourself creatively, and understand how blessed you are in the first place.

Chronic illness offers a wide range of impact. For most of the last two years, I’ve been exhausted at the end of the day, but felt almost no pain, even after exertion. It was a one on a scale of ten. Since August, I’ve slid up that scale to a five or six. Some days have topped off higher than that.

Some people live in a land of constant nines and tens.

I’m blessed to be able to do what I do. To be able to write on demand. To earn a good living and perform well enough that my work’s appreciated. I have supportive people all around me. Overall, I’m incredibly blessed.

Though there are ugly times when I curse my affliction, I choose to live in a lighter place. That’s the greatest super power against any difficulty that comes my way.

When it’s hard, use your dark mood as a reminder to be opposite

My biggest struggle with the Fibromyalgia isn’t the days of significant pain (yesterday was one of them) or the seemingly constant heavy fog of fatigue that’s never far away.

The biggest struggle with this or any other challenging period is how you let it change you.

It’s hard to keep a good attitude all the time. It’s even harder to be positive and add value when your attitude is tinted by your struggle. That’s not just with fibromyalgia, but with any difficult situation.

You’re tired. Your patience is worn raw. And by damn, the universe owes you one.

Even if the universe does owe you one (it doesn’t), what type of person do you want to be? Do you want to inflict struggle one someone else just because it’s hard for you? If you hate what you’re going through so much, why do you want to give someone else a taste?

You don’t. The struggle has altered your vision so you can’t see what you’re about to do. The only thing you can see is your pain and your aggravation.

You need to increase your field of vision.

Aspire not to pass on your struggle, but to diffuse it in other ways. Journal. Move around. Talk to someone. Paint.

Do your best to exercise your power over your darker, harsher thought patterns. Your situation is difficult, but that’s happenstance. You didn’t do it. And the other person didn’t do it, either.

Be aware of your mindset and use it as a reminder to do the opposite.

George Costanza would be proud.

Fear isn’t weakness; it’s an opportunity for courage

This morning, I’m afraid. What if this constant balancing act is just the way things will always be? What if the last few months of struggle isn’t an aberration, but a trend? What if the run I took (and really struggled with) this morning is the best I’ll ever do?

What if I’m gradually sinking into a life where I’m not able to do the things I hold myself accountable for?

It’s scary to explore your abilities and push them to see how far they can go. It’s equally scary to come to terms with the limitations you can’t change.

If you’re living a full life, you should be afraid sometimes. You should doubt how things will turn out. Anything hard has those moments. It comes with the territory.

Fear isn’t weakness. It’s a chance to use your ingenuity, creativity, and grit (and support from your network) to adjust, if necessary, then roll the dice and do your best. If you win, you win. If you don’t, you learn.

Fear isn’t weakness. It’s data, not cowardice. It’s not the final word. You have the final word.

Courage requires fear, so you can act in response to it. The decisions we make outside fear require no courage.

If you’re not afraid sometimes, maybe you aren’t pushing yourself.

Accept the fear. Acknowledge it. Sit with it and explore it. See if it’s telling you something important. Then adjust, if you need to, and go forward.

Your resilience depends on what your feed your head

As last summer played out, I got away from some things that helped me manage things. I stopped listening to The Daily Stoic podcast. I stopped reading books to enrich my mind and improve my skills. Then, just before Labor Day, when the Fibro roof fell in, I didn’t have anything to fall back on.

I read the Bible every day and it helps. But if God created us with minds, some of those minds can add to what’s in His book. Conceptually, the Bible makes for a great life manual–especially the Psalms and New Testament. It tells you what to do, but it doesn’t tell you how.

Last year, I read several books by Ryan Holiday, a couple by Brene Brown, and a wonderful book on the cost of success by Wright Thompson (among others). Then…nothing.

Resilience isn’t a gift given by God. It’s not a magical skill some have, but the rest of us don’t. It’s forced through working at it. It requires trial and error–and help.

I’ve bought The Daily Stoic book and journal, with quick devotionals written from a stoic point of view and a matching journal prompt. I just started Do Hard Things by Steve Magness. Its premise is that we don’t understand toughness. We think toughness is drilled in. That some people have it and those people are better than others. That it’s unattainable, except by going through hell.

Toughness is attainable, but you have to start by learning the skills required for toughness. You can’t get better on your own. You get better with wise counsel from others. Even the Bible says that (Proverbs 24:6, among others). If nothing else, you’re showing yourself that you have value by doing hard things to get better.

Otherwise, it’s harder to counter that doomsayer that lives in all of us. And then a steep hill gets a little steeper.

Your emotions serve you, not the other way around

In his message yesterday, our Pastor asked what the opposite of hope is. Because I’m a snarky pain in the ass, my answer was being a Jets fan. It’s been decades of comfortable repetition: I get my hopes up (despite people around me saying they’re the Jets and they’ll lose), they find new, exciting ways to crap the bed, and they lose. I can count on this. I expect it.

The fact that I’m usually right gives me re-enforcement that my trip to Eeyoreville is the right thing to do.

Eeyoreville. Population: Every living Jets fan

It’s also one of my lesser tendencies. I hit a tough patch, and this little snowball of snarky cynicism starts rolling down the hill, only to grow bigger and bigger until there’s a rainbow and all of the colors are black.

And that’s when I struggle to manage that negativity.

God gave me emotions to serve me (and Him), not the other way around. My dark mood is not immutable. I’m not powerless against it. When I notice that emotional slide start to happen, I have the ability to recognize it and course correct. Yes, I’ll be annoyed. Yes, that’s normal. I have the choice not to be normal.

I can’t control what I feel. I can control how I manage those feelings. Maybe it sucks now, but that doesn’t mean it’ll suck next week, or tomorrow, or even later today. Managing my viewpoint may even help me make the suck go away sooner.

Maybe it won’t, but I’ll never know if I let my emotions run away from me.

I’ve never hit a doom spiral and afterwards said, “Boy, I’m glad I did that!”

So I don’t have to. It’s a good thing to remember before the snowball gets to big.