Courage
On the suffering shuffle
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Dear Bolu,
Long ago, I read tales of a king of old who was given a blank cheque in a dream.
“Ask whatever you want me to give you,” the giver had said.
The king, only a boy tasked with ruling a great many people, asked for wisdom.
“That I may know the difference between right and wrong,” he responded.
The giver, impressed that the king had asked neither for long life, nor for wealth, nor for the death of his enemies, granted his request, and added riches and fame.
I’d always believed that wisdom was the only fitting answer, and for a long time I was sure that if I’d been asked, it would have been my choice without much thought. That was the king’s answer, and it got him everything. I have, however, lived a little, and the years have enrobed me in their wisdom, often painfully, often at great cost. There’s still a lot I don’t know—and much more that I don’t know how to know—but I’m also not that foolish. And unlike the boy king, I don’t have much of a domain to govern. It’s just me and little else. Wisdom would still be a good answer, yes, but I think courage would serve me better, because for all my knowledge of rights and wrongs, I still fail and falter in the doing.
I had a thought once: that we go through life exchanging one suffering for another in a sort of suffering shuffle. Every change in our state—whether a car purchased, a skill learned, a meal prepared, or a degree earned—is a suffering shuffle. We choose the state we want to be in, and we trade the sufferings in our current state for those in the new state. We shuffle friends for friends, friends for hobbies, hobbies for jobs, jobs for jobs, jobs for lovers, lovers for countries, countries for countries and so forth. We’re constantly shuffling, and we tend to opt for outcomes that ultimately leave us with the least amount of suffering. We also don’t mind suffering through a course if we know that we would be better off with the eventual outcome.
To digress a bit, this is the dream the manager of a certain football club that shall remain unnamed, is selling.
“We are going to suffer a lot… but the good days are coming,” he says.
Indeed, it is easier to wade through suffering if we believe the good days are coming. Sometimes, however, we know they won’t come, that the right course of action, the right suffering shuffle, will leave us suffering even more. It is in those moments that courage is most needed, yet it is also when it most often deserts us. I think, therefore, that it is the most prized gift anyone could have.
Maya Angelou put it best when she said that courage is the most important virtue, because without it, we cannot practice all the others consistently. I couldn’t agree more. I think, perhaps naively, that all the ills of the world would be gone with a little courage. For it is courage that keeps us in pursuit of our goals, and on our feet in the face of bullies and tyrants. It is with courage that we challenge ideas, even ours, however foundational and fundamental they may be. It is with courage that we ask, knowing we may not be given, and seek, knowing we may never find; that we trust vulnerably; that we sit through discomfort instead of addictively chasing thrills; that we acknowledge our wrongdoings and apologise; that we forgive. It is with courage that we love; that we leave loves that have left us; that we leave loves that could never be ours. It is with courage that we hold on and let go; that we exercise our gifts; that we write on the white, blank page; that we paint on the daunting canvas; that we speak the truth; that we listen; that we show up; that we face our fears. It is with courage that we make our life into anything meaningful.
Not long ago, I heard the tale of Witold Pilecki, a Pole, who in 1940 volunteered himself to be captured and imprisoned in Auschwitz, the Nazi concentration camp. His mission was to document and report the activities in the camp, and to establish a resistance movement inside. Auschwitz was not a kind place, yet he volunteered.
“I have tried to live my life such that in the hour of my death I would feel joy rather than fear,” Pilecki said.
Auschwitz was a horror show, yet he volunteered. That’s one hell of a suffering shuffle, and I don’t know that I’d have the courage to do that. I don’t know that I could reach for the deck or even sit at the table if I knew those were the hands I’d be dealt. I think of Pilecki when I think of courage, or rather, my lack of it. I wonder if it was given to him in a dream. Or perhaps it isn’t given at all; perhaps it is found where fear stands tallest. Still, if it is given, perhaps I’ll receive it when the giver comes to me in a dream, today or tomorrow. And if it isn’t, perhaps I’ll find it when I need it, just as I found you, dear friend.
Fin.
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Write you soon. Merci!
- Wolemercy