The Economy of Pain

Lately I've been thinking about the value of pain. It seems to me there is an economy of which it is a central element.

Way back when I was a sophomore in high school, I made a new friend whose father had died the year before. One time he happened to be telling me about his relationship to a young lady, a mutual friend I had become acquainted with at about the same time. She had been close to him throughout the previous several years and walked with him through his loss and grief. They were friends with no romantic interest and had never dated as far as I ever knew. But I observed a closeness between them; a tenderness that I knew was very special. He told me “We've been through a lot together.” At that moment I dialed into something about shared pain. It can yield a depth of relationship that is precious. I found myself longing to be bonded to friends with that kind of closeness. I've likened it many times to the war veterans who meet years later for reunions. They survived something horrible together and though they would never wish the experience on anyone, when they sit together quietly drinking coffee, a scene that any observer would pass and think absolutely nothing of, they share a connection and understanding that is deep and rich and unsharable with anyone who had not been there back in the day. Shared pain welds a bond between souls that is of extremely high value.

Pain yields appreciation. Through contrast the relief at the end of it or any good situation that comes along after it is made all the more sweet. A thing I might have taken for granted that may have indeed been completely wasted on me causes my heart to well up in gratitude when I know what it was to be without it, to have known the wanting, to have been hungry and destitute. So pain can be viewed like a savings account. The bitterness of it contains the promise of future sweetness in comparative proportion.

Like money, pain has transferable value. A painful experience doesn't necessarily have to be shared at the same place and time to yield connection. A mother who lost a baby years before can empathize with a mother who has just gone through such a loss and provide comfort that nobody else can. The threshold between being alone and not can be crossed using the currency of pain earned at an earlier time.

It seems masochistic sometimes when certain situations or music or whatever cause me to feel my pain in an intensely amplified way that I would allow myself to be exposed to such. One might counsel another to stay away. But I find myself wanting to expose my chest and let it hammer on my heart. I more often than not embrace it and let it pummel me. Somehow it makes me feel like I'm still alive and human. I sense the value in it though I so desperately wish it wasn't there and would go away.

I remember when I got the shocking news that my father had died suddenly. I was in Detroit and immediately got in my vehicle and drove home to Chicago. During the hours of that night alone on the freeway I made a decision to not fight the grief but let it have it's way with me. I embraced it. I wept and sobbed and swam in the loss. I believe I grieved well and got to a healthier, more stable place and much sooner than I would have otherwise.

So I acknowledge the currency of pain. I don't like the earning of it. It is a bitter wage. It often feels wanton, out of control, very arbitrary and unfair. I hate it, struggle against it, and want it to be over. But I trust that it is not a waste. It has lasting value. I trust that one day I will look back with the conviction that I would not have traded it for anything in the world.