Whenever I share about my upcoming Australia trip, people are genuinely happy for me. I’m taken aback because sharing good news, especially over social media, seems perilous these days. A year or so ago, Glennon Doyle shared a video of her singing on a boat with her friends and family. The next day, she had the single-largest drop in followers her entire time on Instagram. She posited it’s because there’s something triggering about seeing women, especially, happy. That perhaps we’re more comfortable with their pain and suffering.
More recently in October, Daisey Miller shared a tweet that said, “my husband and i wake up every morning and bring our coffee out to our garden and sit and talk for hours. every morning. it never gets old & we never run out of things to talk [about]. love him so much.” Some responses were positive but many were scathing and called her out for being privileged and presumably wealthy. There was an assumption Miller didn’t work and had minimal responsibilities.
Happiness increases when it’s shared. Photo by Catalin Pop on Unsplash
In other words, instead of celebrating Miller’s quality time with her husband, people tore her down and mocked her. Numerous people tweeted their own versions: “my husband and i wake up every morning and go out to our garden and swordfight for hours. every morning. it never gets old & we never run out of ways to duel and spar. love him so much,” or “my husband and i wake up every morning and go out to our garden and we kill each other with our bare hands because we are miserable and we both have crabs.”
Those that didn’t mock her showcased self-righteousness, which is the conviction that one’s beliefs and behaviors are the most correct. As John Mark Green puts it, “The self-righteous scream judgments against others to hide the noise of skeletons dancing in their own closets.” Twitter is rife with self-righteousness and a hotbed of schadenfreude, a compound of the German words schaden, harm, and freude, joy. It means deriving pleasure or joy from someone else’s suffering or misfortune.
Brené Brown writes in her book Atlas of the Heart that schadenfreude is “seductive. Especially when we’re sucked into groupthink. It’s easy to build counterfeit connection with collective schadenfreude. I say ‘counterfeit’ because when we see someone who we don’t like, we disagree with, or is outside our group stumble, fall, or fail, it’s tempting to celebrate that suffering together and to stir up collective emotion.”
I mean, I get it. I’ve felt schadenfreude from time to time. But that doesn’t mean schadenfreude has to dominate your life. The antidote to schadenfreude is freudenfreude, a word made up by an American psychologist that literally translates as “joy joy.” It’s letting yourself feel vicarious joy for others. When we share our joy, our joy increases. The Buddha stated this well when he said, “Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle. Happiness never decreases by being shared.”
I have to remind myself of that because I worry by sharing my good news people will judge me, one-up me, or try to tear me down. Thus far they haven’t, probably because I’m not famous and I don’t surround myself with jerks. It could also be that I engage in freudenfreude regularly. I really and truly celebrate when others celebrate. Seeing their joy brings me joy and perhaps that’s why it’s coming back to me. Together, we are multiplying happiness.
I dream of a world where we celebrate each other’s wins. A world where we practice freudenfreude more than its opposite. A world where we remember happiness doesn’t decrease when it’s shared, instead it’s multiplied.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
You know how people say most of the things they’re afraid of never happen? The opposite is true for me — most of the things I’ve feared have happened. Not the fleeting, “I’m scared I’ll miss my flight” things, but the “I’m scared I’ll be broken into” things. The recurring fears, the ones that cause my stomach to roil and my chest to constrict. I want to take a moment here to recognize my fears are of a privileged white woman. I totally understand other people lead tougher lives than I do, with fears greater than mine. I understand I have a relatively easy, cushy life. I’m not here to get into a competition about that. Rather, the point of this post is to talk about fear and resilience.
For much of my life I’ve braced myself for terrible things. I’ve done my best to ward them off but they happened anyway. And because they happened, I feel less afraid now. I no longer have to fear the worst because the worst has happened and I’ve lived to tell the tale. It also means I know how to take care of myself in challenging times. If I have to endure a hardship again, I will because I did before.
Researcher and storyteller Brené Brown writes about this character trait, resilience, in her book Rising Strong. She said, “While vulnerability is the birthplace of many of the fulfilling experiences we long for — love, belonging, joy, creativity, and trust, to name a few — the process of regaining our emotional footing in the midst of struggle is where our courage is tested and our values are forged. Rising strong after a fall is how we cultivate wholeheartedness in our lives; it’s the process that teaches us the most about who we are.”
Can I find calm amidst the storm? Or better yet, become the storm? Photo by NASA on Unsplash
Check and check. I used to think of myself as a scaredy cat. As someone sensitive and fragile. But after everything I’ve been through, I’m moving closer and closer to feeling fearless because what else do I have to be afraid of? I’ve already surmounted many obstacles in my life. At this point I’m confident I have the tools to get through anything. I have evidence to prove my feelings won’t kill me, even if feeling them sometimes is excruciating. And I continue to turn to my spiritual practices.
My spiritual teacher says over and over again if a person takes shelter in the Supreme, they need not be afraid of anything in this world. That the divine is “more courageous than the most courageous and braver than the bravest. Those who take shelter in [the divine] are therefore bound to acquire these qualities: courage, bravery, chivalry, and so on. Once endowed with such qualities, what is there to fear?”
I’m a human being so I still fear many things, but I know the more I lean into the presence of my higher power, the better I feel. The more I surrender, the more I recognize everything is an expression of an infinite loving consciousness; the more relaxed I become and also the more fearless. There’s a quote floating around about how the devil whispered in a warrior’s ear: “You’re not strong enough to withstand the storm.” And then the warrior responded, “I am the storm.” That’s what it feels like right now. May we all feel that way.
I dream of a world where we recognize our resilience. A world where we recognize our ability to tackle all the challenges coming our way. A world where we become more and more fearless because we understand not only are we strong enough to withstand the storm, but that we are the storm.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
It’s funny how things run in cycles. Almost exactly a year ago, I wrote a post called, “Reparenting the Inner Child.” The nuances of that post are being further revealed today. That post was about safety; this post is also about safety albeit a different kind.
The question has come up a few times this week, “Why did I write Just a Girl from Kansas?” Specifically, what do I get out of it? I realized on Thursday, the personal reason I wrote the book is to prove to myself that it’s safe to be me. It’s safe for me to be who I am out in the world; it’s safe for me to be vulnerable.
Into me see!
So much of my story, so much of my childhood, has been about hiding who I am for fear of harm. I learned early on to hide who I was and only reveal my true self around certain people. Writing Just a Girl from Kansas was an act of defiance. My adult self proving the world has changed, I have changed, and it’s fine for me to not only reveal my true self, but reveal the most intimate parts of myself.
I’ve heard it said intimacy could be broken down as, “into me see.” I would say that’s true. When I’m vulnerable, you are seeing into me and that’s scary because what if you don’t like it? What if you decide it’s not good enough, I’m not good enough, and you run in the other direction? Vulnerability and thus intimacy can be painful and scary. All day today I’ve wanted to hide away, build a wall around myself, and post a sign that says, “KEEP OUT.” Vulnerability is scary for people and I am no exception, but it’s important to let others see into me.
Because we’re talking about vulnerability, I have mention another post I wrote in which I linked to Brené Brown’s Ted Talk on the subject. She asserts vulnerability creates connection and I’ve found that to be the case. When other people see into me, my friendships are richer, deeper. We don’t talk about what Miley Cyrus is up to – we talk about what’s real, what’s happening in our lives, and that wouldn’t be possible without vulnerability.
I keep making myself vulnerable because the rewards outweigh the risks and sharing who I am reminds me I’m not as alone as I think. C.S. Lewis captures this sentiment perfectly when he says, “Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: “What! You too? I thought I was the only one.” Being vulnerable, being who I really am in the world reminds me there are others like me, other people dealing with the same issues, and that allows me to cope in a far greater capacity than I could on my own. That is why I let other people see into me.
I dream of a world where we allow ourselves to be vulnerable. A world where we remember as scary as it is, the rewards outweigh the risks. A world where we know it’s safe to be ourselves. A world where we remember we are not alone. A world where we let others see us for who we are.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.