The Exquisite Joy of Being Miserable
So I’m listening to Garbage’s Only Happy When It Rains, mindlessly singing along with Shirley Manson. Pour your misery down, pour your misery down on me.
I’m sure the song is mocking those Eeyores among us, the Debbie Downers, the ones who feel so good when they “feel so sad.” I mean, haven’t we known those types? The ones who excitedly call us up to tell us about the pitfalls of their newest romance, or are the first to post some sort of horrible national news on Facebook, the people at a party who leave us looking around frantically for an escape. My only comfort is the night gone black .
Of course, the song couldn’t be talking about me, right?
I mean, yeah, I’m a Gen Xer, so my whole generation takes pride in being cynical, dark. No Pollyanna idealistic Boomers here, no sirree. The first we knew of politics was hearing the grownups talking about Watergate. We grew up hearing dire predictions about the environment, about how we would be the first generation less successful than our parents, we were latchkey kids of divorce. I‘m only happy when it’s complicated …
But me? No, I’m hopeful. Optimistic.
Except for when I’m not.
I’m riding high upon a deep depression …
That’s the thing of it, isn’t it? That no one talks about. There is pleasure in being miserable. Feeling sorry for ourselves. I don’t mean a serious depression, from which you can’t seem to extricate yourself. No, I’m talking about those run-of-the-mill blues, ennui, moodiness. Remember the child’s rhyme? Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I’m gonna eat worms … Sometimes, we just have to wallow in our unhappiness, relishing the exquisite joy of being miserable.
When we can do that, when we can be honest, we are claiming our choice in the whole matter. Buddhists say that pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional. Our society talks disparagingly about pity parties, but I think we all need one every once in a while. Like with all good parties, we need good food, good drink, good entertainment. Bring on the comfort food, the milkshakes, the sappy movies to cry over, whether it’s Steel Magnolias or Field of Dreams.
Ecclesiastes says to everything there is a season, and after the pity party, it’s time to clean up. Wash the dishes, dry the tears, change the soundtrack.
Misery can feel good, but happiness feels better.
Realities of a New Baby
“A new baby is an amazing miracle, radiating promise, evoking some of the most intense feelings of love. And at the same time…completely exhausting.”
We welcome new babies into our communities with rituals and ceremonies. We dedicate ourselves, as parents, family, and church members, to helping to raise this child to feel valued, loved, and able to fulfill their potential. Rather than seeing them as tainted by original sin, we see them as whole and beautiful, just as they are.
They are human, though, and just at the beginning of their becoming. They are, as the behaviorists say, “developmentally appropriate.” Which means incredibly needy, unable to adequately communicate, and completely dependent on their parents. Especially at 3 am.
Accepting Help
“We hear all the time that it is blessed to give. Sometimes, though, we give a blessing when we allow ourselves to receive from others.”
Our Unitarian Universalist 7th principle tells us that we are not alone, that we are part of an interdependent web of existence. Our theology tells us that it is not enough to take care of our own lives, we are also called to build the beloved community through our relationships with others. Deservedly, we take pride in our willingness to reach out to others, to help someone in need.
These are noble ideas to which we aspire. Sometimes, though, we are faced with a different type of call—the call to receive the help and support of others.
When we are the ones who need help, it may feel like our worth and dignity are at stake. We mistakenly feel that to receive help is to lose our dignity. But allowing others to minister to us affirms the worth of all involved.
Suicide of a Loved One
“In the obituaries, they call the friends and family of the person who died the “survivors.” Surviving the suicide of a loved one is one of the most difficult things a person will do. But you will. You will survive.”
The most basic, fundamental decision any person makes is whether we will continue to live. We are so interconnected that when someone makes the choice to end their life it sends shock waves of pain through their community.
Along with dealing with their own pain and loss, the loved ones often have to deal with a society that believes in an eternal punishment for those who commit suicide. But to say that there will be further punishment for a person who was in such emotional or physical pain that the only way they could find to stop it was to end their life shows a lack of understanding about the profound love and compassion that course through the world.
We, the loved ones—the survivors—must seek out that love and compassion so that we may find our own healing.
Parenting a Child with a Life-Altering Illness or Condition
“Like they tell you on the airplane: first, put on your own oxygen mask. Then, you’ll be able to put your child’s on them.”
Bad things happen to good people. We know this, but when something happens to a child, when they are diagnosed with a serious illness or condition, their illness also “happens” to their parents or caregivers. Caregivers often must put the rest of their lives on hold to attend to the sick child. But those of us in that role must also take care of ourselves so that we are strengthened to give that care.
Missing God
“As our faith expands, we can find new, more complex ways of perceiving the unknowable.”
For many of us, it proves impossible to limit religious thought to a narrow creed. The more we learn, the more difficult it becomes to restrict ourselves to the definition of ultimate reality, or God, that we grew up with, or held when we were young. James Fowler writes about this in Stages of Faith: The Psychology of Human Development and the Quest for Meaning. But as we progress through different stages of faith development, we may find that certain concepts we felt we had outgrown still hold meaning for us. One of these concepts may be “God.”
The Spiritual Act of Complaining
Our culture rewards those who wear an ever-positive attitude. But sometimes, what is honest and right is to express our hurt and anger…to admit “this stinks!”
Optimism is often held up as a cardinal virtue. No matter the situation, we feel we should be plucky, searching for that silver lining, and courageous. With lips trembling, we bravely say, “I’m not going to have a pity party.” We stiffen our shoulders and brace for a hit, a plastic smile on our faces.
Yet the religious faith of Unitarian Universalism is based on authenticity. We encourage people to be their genuine selves in our churches, rather than mouthing things they don’t believe, or pretending to be something other than what they are.
The Challenge of Being “All of the Above”
I’m just not willing to choose only one.
I have been a student of religion all my life, it seems. But I have lived in worlds that press me to choose. I attend a Christian seminary. I have been in a “goddess group” of Wiccans. I honor humanism. I have had the holy joy of worshiping with Muslims, with Pagans, with Protestants, with Catholics, with Jews, with Hare Krishnas.
Sometimes, kind practitioners of one particular religion or another will profess that they know what I truly am (and it is always what they are). I take these as compliments, for I know they are intended that way.
Others are not so complimentary. Mine is a deliberately syncretic faith. “Syncretism,” to many in exclusivist religions, is a heresy, an un-holy mess, something to be avoided at all costs.
Well-meaning people will explain that it doesn’t matter what I choose, but I must choose, and only one. Only then can I go truly deep into a religion.
