Are we suffering obssessed?
There’s an odd sense of satisfaction in slowly suffocating under life’s relentless ups and downs. To eventually be crushed by responsibility and heartache feels natural. After all, we're gluttons for punishment. The heavier the things we carry, the more determined we are to carry heavier things.
We're capable of rest, but we choose to ignore desperate pleas for it. Our souls prefer chaos. Why? Life is already hard without this sick defiance. And yet, we keep moving at top speed. Like a junkie in need of his next fix, we're forever chasing a false narrative that we're meant to shoulder more than we should.
It's a continued cycle of identifying more with what we can tolerate than with who we are. Our worth is our strength. Our pride is our endurance. Our downfall is never giving up.
It’s no wonder this cycle ends in a major crash. Yet, after the slow burn and fast fall, we dive back into the fire. Except, sparing the obvious, being cooked alive doesn't seem like the best use of our time. Surely, sacrificing ourselves on the altar of hardship isn’t nearly as appealing as embracing a life of freedom.
Maybe we actually think we can withstand the fire. Maybe we're more naive than we realize. Needless to say, we will eventually be scorched. Fire doesn't particularly care if we're threatened or not. It will continue to burn.
This is why we need help.
The most common animal used in plowing is an ox. Well-suited for performing heavy tasks, the ox's sturdy build and gripped hooves give it the ability to pull between 750 - 1200 lbs. While this is impressive, the strain on joints over time leads to increased health risks and chronic fatigue. The ox's saving grace is the yoke. A yoke evenly distributes the weight of the load across the shoulders of the ox, eliminating extreme pressures on the neck and back. With a yoke, the ox can pull at least 1.5 times its body weight for substantially longer periods of time.
What a novice idea to share the load.
Longevity appears to be less about the weight we bear alone and more about our willingness to share the burden with others. But in order to go the distance, we must first master the art of vulnerability.
To rid ourselves of the notion that strength is measured by facing heavy burdens alone, we must risk voicing our weaknesses and fears. It is uncomfortable to admit that a situation may be too challenging or that the pain may be too crippling because, to do so, is to invoke pity and the potential for betrayal. Within our broken schism, we believe that it is more dangerous to be hurt by people than to be hurt by our own suffering. We are also drawn to the allure of self-glory, often unconsciously. Enduring a challenge alone feels worthy of a gilded medal.
But how would you explain that lonely suffering is better to someone like Harriett Tubman or Martin Luther King Jr? What about victims of the Holocaust? In the face of dire circumstances, it was the simple notion of asking for help that changed the course of history. King couldn't march on his own. Jews couldn't hide on their own.
There is no award for going at it alone. There is no Medal of Honor for dying a martyr's death for yourself.
We must practice putting down things we have no business carrying, so that when challenges arise, as they inevitably will, we will draw from a well of strength untainted by the weight of unnecessary burdens. Reject responsibilities that aren't fair. Harness the power of the word "no." Ask for help. Cultivate the habit of resting. Look for your yolks.
This concept is like the butterfly effect - one small step, a tiny change, can shape our behaviors for the next 20 years.
Maybe living weightless is a pipe dream, but living balanced is not. Balance is not about carrying nothing; it’s about carrying only what truly belongs to you, and in doing so, finding the strength to walk further than you ever imagined.
