I’ve always been a relatively happy dude.
So much so that in my formative years it became my identity - I was the never-stressed, never-rattled, always-smiling guy.
I liked that identity. It seemed like something people enjoyed being around and it offered a sense of belonging and appreciation that honestly I’d probably struggled to feel up until then.
But with so much of me wrapped in an ever-smiling identity, there wasn’t room for sadness, frustration, despair, confusion or anything less than sunshine.
Sadness was a threat - it would challenge my identity and shake the foundations of my understanding of my place in the world.
This is the perspective I operated from for a long time.
Joy, happiness, calm, optimism, cheerfulness and exuberance were all welcome guests at the table - anything else had to be steadfastly stopped at the door.
Until recently. Maybe it’s an offshoot of becoming a Dad and thinking of the emotional experience and awareness I want my mini-humans to have, or maybe it’s just maturity. Either way, the last 2-3 years have been a real exploration period for my emotional wellbeing - with unsurprisingly beautiful results in the shape of imperfect progress.
I still think of myself as someone with a relatively high baseline of happiness and an overall calm demeanour.
And now, I recognise I’m human.
And to be a human means to experience the full tapestry of feelings.
I’m okay to experience sadness.
I’m okay to experience concern.
And I’m okay to experience loneliness.
I don’t actively seek some of them out but if they arise, my role isn’t to contain them - it’s to understand them and engage with them in healthy ways.
Holding them back doesn’t facilitate that, letting them in does.
So, now, there are more seats at the table than ever.
There’s room for melancholy.
There’s room for frustration.
There’s room for shame.
They’re no longer a potentially disruptive presence banging down the door - they’re transient guests. And, now that they’ve got seats at the table, they’re able to share their insights.
Melancholy taps me back into my heart and is the source of my compassion, generosity and more creative tendencies.
Frustration points to what’s really important to me.
Shame offers some nudges in the direction of how I want to hold myself.
Every emotion has an important voice we should be tuned to. Some may be more pleasant or comfortable than others - some may be more conducive to short-term needs (e.g. performance).
But we can’t expect to live a good life if we’re forever guarding the door. An exclusive guest list holds little value - it’s the diversity of guests, and the warmth and welcome we meet them with that allows for forward progress - in wellbeing, in our relationships, in our creative endeavours, in our life.
Give them a seat at the table. Offer them tea. Be curious. And don’t worry, they won’t stay forever.
I’m not a happy person - I experience moments of happiness.
I’m not a sad person - I experience moments of sadness.
I’m not an anxious person - I experience moments of anxiety.
I’m not a frustrated person - I experience moments of frustration.
My identity, belonging and value aren’t contingent on desperately constraining my emotional states to particular shades of the tapestry - and neither is yours.
Imperfect progress.
The Guest House (Rumi)
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
Have a beautiful week legends.
Big love.
Jesse
Holy moly, this is beautifully articulated. Thank you so much for sharing