Why loving people deeply is both a gift and a wound—and worth it anyway
Recently I attended an annual community gathering of a close-knit group of peers—people I’ve grown to know and love as family. One familiar face was not there. One person I’ve taken for granted would always be in attendance was missing. A man I’ve grown over the last couple of years to really appreciate, to really think highly of, was not there. He is in the hospital, fighting for his life.
The emotional wrestle with love and mortality demands a harsh tax, especially on people like myself who feel things deeply and invest much energy into relationships. But illness, death, or even gross misunderstandings take no prisoners. Life is just as cruel as it is rewarding.
When I was sixteen years old, another boy my age at church was killed in a skid loader accident. We weren’t really friends, but I remember how strongly it affected me because we were close to the same age. A year or two later, another friend was killed in a car accident. I thought these were once-in-a-lifetime experiences. They weren’t.
The harsh truth about life that no one prepared me for is that no one gets out unscathed. The more people you know, the bigger your circle of peers, the larger your network, the more you involve or invest yourself in the lives of others, the more vulnerable you are to heartache.
Just this past holiday season, a couple of weeks of my life were turned upside down by an unexpected personal assault. My integrity and honor were suddenly, unjustly, being scrutinized due to a misunderstanding that I was not expecting one little bit. It took away my peace. It burdened me through a season that should have been one of rest and celebration. I inwardly—and sometimes outwardly—expressed all of the emotions: anger, sadness, indignation, depression.
What happened? Life happened. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and was an open target for someone who wanted to take their unhappiness out on an easy mark.
How do death, sickness, and attacks on one’s character relate to one another, you may ask? I’ve been pondering this question and this article for a long time. I’ve asked the same question myself.
As I’ve gotten older, have been blessed with a beautiful family, and given much responsibility, I have come to really thrive in and appreciate a life of order, routine, and calm. Please don’t disturb Drew’s calm. But that’s not how life works. You may try to hide from storms, from disappointments, or from heartache, but you cannot avoid them.
I have a very gregarious, busy, and giving personality. I thrive when I am putting myself out there—helping others, going out of my way to get to know the “new guy.” Anyone who knows me—or has seen my social platforms—can tell you that I am not shy. I live to be expressive, to make art, to make people smile.
The harsh truth I have come to realize is that the more I put myself “out there,” the more friends I have, the more people I know, the more frequently I will have to deal with pain and suffering.
Statistically, if you have 1,000 people in your peer group, eight or nine of them will die in the next year. Look it up. Now, I cannot claim to have 1,000 close friends, but I have many times that in acquaintances. And if you add in the possibility that you may offhandedly or unintentionally offend someone with an ill-placed remark—that you will have conflict with a neighbor, a coworker, or a family member—life has a lot of hard lessons and curveballs just waiting for you around the next corner.
So, what do I do? Should I just hole myself up in a cabin somewhere and wait for the world to pass by without me?
In January I taught a class on blacksmithing in Maryland to about 100 people. I was nervous—not in an unhealthy way, but just as much as one ought to be. It was a privilege to have been invited to present, and I took that seriously. After the class, numerous people came up and told me what they had learned and how much they valued what I had presented. One person had some critical remarks.
I have twenty-two neighbors within about a quarter mile of my house. One invited me to a lovely Christmas party in December. A few have become very close friends. A couple are always available if I need to borrow a tool—or even a tractor. One, I cannot talk to. No, really—one won’t talk to me.
The thing I keep reminding myself is this: I can’t please everyone. Not everyone is going to like me or understand me. Some people are downright negative and take out their own bitterness on other people.
I have seen so much good in people. I have helped and been helped by so many good humans. I have lived, loved, laughed with, and enjoyed the company of hundreds and hundreds of others who have chosen to share happy little moments of joy with me.
After the recent incident in December, I came up with a mantra to tell myself when there is a misunderstanding: “I acted with respect and integrity, and I am at peace with that.” As for life’s little misunderstandings, that will have to do for now.
As far as the illnesses and death… well, without death to frame a great life, we really wouldn’t learn to appreciate it, would we? I am so grateful for all of the friends I have, for all of the great people I have known, know, and will know throughout my life. End of life kind of goes along with it.
I am, in many ways, a man realizing that openness is both his superpower and his wound—and choosing it anyway.
I choose not to let the downsides of living my life get me down, and when it does, I will get right back up and keep moving forward. I’m taking one lesson, and one big loss at a time, careful not to let them overshadow the immense amount of joy and blessing that are around me.
