Every Friday I transfer posts here from the Virtual Pint archives.
And look, here’s Friday come around again. It’s been a day of screenplaying, hence the lateness of the post. In the archive world it’s May, summer and warm, and I hope these pints may warm you a little in the winter of today.
- The bonds of experience (May 2004) — How the negative connects us and divides us, too.
- Taking care (May 2004) — Strategies for snarky days.
- Send me an angel (May 2004) — NPR me, baby.
Enjoy your weekend.
There’s a lot in your pint this Friday. I don’t know if it’s relevant, but one of the most lasting and powerful experiences I had of bonding in adversity was group therapy in the nut hatch right after an episode of clinical depression. I don’t know why it’s called clinical, there’s nothing rational, scientific or organized about it! I felt “at home” enough to make myself vulnerable and talk in a way I never did in individual sessions with a shrink. People who have been there too don’t have to say they understand, they just do. And you’re right, it’s not just common suffering that brings us together, but the joy of being understood.
Barbara, I don’t think I said it nearly as well as you do — “the joy of being understood,” that’s it.
I haven’t been in the nut hatch myself, but people I love very much have. I don’t know what their experience is of group therapy, but I do know that at least a couple of them did bond very deeply with fellow nuthatchers.
And I do think that sharing a profound experience with someone can create an understanding so absolute that words are no longer necessary. Just look at how many moments in movies and books are built on that kind of wordless exchange, that sense of acknowledgment. And I’m not meaning to minimize it all, quite the opposite — the fact that these story moments have so much impact is a testament to their power in our “real” lives.
It’s peculiar and interesting to me to find myself resisting the idea that there are good and meaningful experiences that can come out of suffering that are not possible to come out of joy. Because I actually think that my resistance is futile. And I have to wonder if I’m just being a coward, wanting to have the joy of survivorship without having to actually survive anything? Or if it’s some other kind of fear…. I don’t know. Will have to think more about it. But I’m learning that this kind of resistance is a real clue, you know?
Well, the whole christian religion is based on the idea that suffering is necessary to salvation. I sure don’t subscribe to that idea! I would rather not have suffered, but it made me able to give up a lot of lies on which I was depending to survive. Freud once said that neurosis was the strategy we use to avoid real grief or pain. I just don’t know. I wouldn’t endorse suffering as a good way to learn. However, my personal suffering put me in touch with people to whom I could tell the truth, and just stop. It didn’t make me more enlightened or better. It just made me want to live.
PS: Did you get your screen play revisions finished and turned in? I was concerned about you.
Barbara, how nice of you to check in, I appreciate it. I did get a chunk of revision finished, and unfortunately it isn’t really making everyone happy, so it appears I will be doing it again. Sigh. That’s part of the deal and part of the game. If I were a more experienced screenwriter, I wouldn’t have to play so hard…. but playing is the only way to get the experience. It is a profession suitable only for stubborn people, that’s for sure.
Well, I guess it’s a good thing that you have lots of stubborn determination, Kelley.
I’ve been thinking some about your discussion of suffering vs joy and bonding. My experience has been that every time I share some kind of suffering with people, it deepens our bond. I have become close – I thought very close – to people with whom I had experienced only fun, joyous moments. Then something very difficult happened. And they didn’t show up. It seemed to be true that saying about finding out who one’s friends really are during times of adversity was true. I thought I knew those people, but it suddenly seemed I didn’t.
Maybe it was just my younger naiveté, and undoubtedly I’d make better choices for friends these days, but the people who stood by me during the tough times (and vice versa – the people who allowed me to be there for them during their difficult times) are the people to whom I am the closest. There’s just something about it that is inherent in our makeup I think â the sharing of pain and the giving and receiving of help and support bonds us like nothing else does.
I think it is possible for some people to understand on a deep level another person’s experience even if they have not experienced it; I’ve known a few. But I think that those people are extremely rare. Extremely. And it’s still not quite the same as having actually experienced it – especially experiencing it together. I suspect it has something to do with our reptilian brain and the markers it makes for pain.
I agree that joy is also a bonding thing too. Certainly sex is, but there is a larger chemical component at work there. Hell, there’s always chemical stuff happening in our brains. Experiencing laughter with someone – deep almost hysterical kind of laughter is also something that I find deeply bonding. It may be a rarer experience than suffering. Maybe thatâs part of why we donât hear about it as much. Itâs maybe as hard to trust someone enough to share a deep level of joy as it is for suffering/help. And with suffering we are sometimes have no choice but to go through it, whereas with joy, we must make the choice on our own volition; maybe that actually takes more courage in a way.
And when there are shared experiences of both types – joy and suffering – I find there is a bond there that cannot be rivaled.
Jennifer, I agree wholeheartedly about shared laughter. Laughter is not just a lot of fun. It’s a cure. The brain chemistry thing is right too. I used to think the theory that brain chemistry causes madness was behaviorist propaganda. After prozac and lithium restored my equilibrium in a matter of months, I no longer do. I’m not saying I’m sane, but I’m stable, and best of all, I can laugh.