That's a Relief

I have been thinking lately how lovely the feeling of relief is. Walking into a warm room from the cold, rainy outside. Eating a good meal after being hungry all day. Jumping in a pool after working under a hot sun. Crawling into bed after a long, exhausting day.

The problem with those sweet moments is that they mark the end of a prerequisite suffering. They are defined by that suffering and born from it.

I wondered at this yesterday after getting home late in the dark cold windy rain. I was overjoyed to walk into my house and be greeted by my ecstatic dog. To be done with everything outside home. Would I know this joy if I hadn't had to leave in the first place? Almost certainly not. Would I give up that joy by removing the discomfort if I were given the choice?

I already do.

I choose the comfortable path every chance I get. I don't think I would ever choose discomfort just so I could get the joy of relief from it at the end.

But we can't evade suffering altogether. In this life we will experience pain, grief, fear, loneliness and all the other monsters out there. Some of those moments last for an evening, some for years.

When they end, we don't just get the benefit of the pain not being there anymore, we also get the elation that comes with its defeat. It is the hard-won peace, the fruits of labor. Spoils of war. It's a life made sweeter by adding value to what we had been without, that otherwise might have gone unnoticed. The relief becomes gratitude that stays with us over time, yielding even more joy as that time passes.

I would not choose the painful path just to feel the relief of it at the end. But I have lived on this earth long enough to see that seasons of difficulty come and go without permission, and while the relief isn't the point of the season, I know the joy it inevitably brings.

When the hard seasons return, the glorious moment marking their end becomes more than a reward; it becomes my hope in the meantime.