“Pain is what the world does to you; suffering is what you do yourself.” Gautama Buddha’s words echo with a profound truth, a truth I’ve come to embrace in my own journey through the ebbs and flows of life. I’ve long since abandoned the notion that existence should be a constant stream of bliss. Instead, I’ve learned to accept that suffering, in its many forms, is an inherent part of the human experience. It’s the expectations we carry, like heavy weights on our shoulders, that often distort our perception of reality.
I’m not referring to the kind of suffering that follows in the wake of earth – shattering traumas or the deep, all – consuming darkness of clinical depression. No, I’m talking about those more common bouts of lethargy and melancholy that creep up on us from time to time, like unexpected guests. I see these moments as just another part of the rich, complex tapestry of human emotions. They’re as inevitable as stepping in a puddle with your socks on—an annoyance, to be sure, but something most of us will encounter at some point. And in a strange way, I’ve come to appreciate these difficult days. They serve as a stark contrast, allowing me to savor the truly wonderful moments and even the simple, ordinary ones that make life so precious.
Yet, knowing that these grey days are a natural part of life doesn’t make them any easier to endure. When that cloud of gloom descends upon me, it feels as though my entire being is weighted down. My mood darkens, my steps slow, and even the abundance of blessings in my life seems obscured, as if I’m wading through thick mud that clings to my boots, slowing my every move.
But just as I know these emotions will come, I’m also certain they will go. The question is, how can I speed up their departure? That’s when I discovered a method that works for me—a unique bargain I make with the Universe. I speak the words out loud, as if making a solemn vow: “I’ll try if you try.”
My part of the bargain is to take control of what I can. I start by focusing on my senses, immersing myself in the present moment. I might cradle a cup of fresh coffee in my hands, inhaling its rich, inviting aroma without any expectations. I observe the playful bubbles rising to the surface and feel the warm, comforting weight of the mug. I let myself be fully present in that single, simple moment, asking for nothing in return.
Or I’ll stand by the window, letting the sun’s rays wash over my face. I close my eyes and imagine that warmth traveling down my neck, into my collarbones, and spreading throughout my body, all the way to my fingertips and deep into my belly. I’m not looking for a quick fix, a magical cure – all. I’m simply trying to open myself up, to change the way I perceive the world around me by engaging my senses and my nervous system.
The ancient Yoga Sutras, a text that dates back as far as 500 BCE and codified the theory and practice of yoga (in its broadest, most profound sense, far beyond just the physical poses), emphasize the crucial role of the nervous system in expanding our consciousness. We often accept our experiences as absolute truth, but according to this ancient wisdom, if we can change what we feel and believe, our understanding of the truth itself will shift. It’s like the famous parable of the blind men and the elephant, where each man forms his own limited understanding based on the part of the elephant he touches. By altering my perceived inputs, I hope to change the narrative my nervous system creates.
In return for my efforts, I imagine the Universe sending me little gifts. Maybe I’ll find the perfect parking spot when I least expect it, or receive a warm wave and smile from a colleague in the hallway. Perhaps I’ll discover that my favorite band is adding a new local tour date. I don’t truly believe that the Universe is rearranging the world to suit me. Instead, I think it’s all about noticing. I like to imagine that there’s some kind of cosmic exchange at play, where my openness to the goodness around me generates more of it.
I think of this process as a reframing of the “Toyota principle.” When my husband and I first bought a Toyota, suddenly, it seemed like every other car on the road was a Toyota. They hadn’t actually flooded the market; we’d simply adjusted our metaphorical antenna, changing the way we perceived our surroundings.
Engaging with the world in this way doesn’t provide an instant solution. But it does serve as a gentle reminder of all the beauty and joy that surrounds me, even on the darkest days. It reinforces the timeless truth that “this too shall pass.” As someone once wisely said, “If you want to change something, you’ve got to change something.” And for me, making this bargain with the Universe, engaging my senses, and opening my heart to the world’s wonders—these are my “somethings.” They are the steps I take to realign myself with a Universe that makes no guarantees but is filled with endless opportunities and boundless wonder.
