I’ve cried tonight but it’s from onion cutting, not from sadness. Pain has been on my mind these last two weeks, however, and it’s appropriate to reflect while the tiny potatoes I’ve bought for dinner roast in the oven. Tonight’s my night off this week and I could have taken myself out for dinner, but instead, inspired by my recent reading on spirituality and hospitality, I’ve decided to be my own guest, and to open a bottle of Leth Roter Veltliner and cook for myself.
Not necessarily an opening on pain, but this reflection is about pain and hospitality, and how we accept pain in our lives, and dwell with it, with some deep faith that eventually, like any house guest, it will be on its way.
A couple of weeks ago, I went down to Brooklyn to be with a friend as she began the process of celebration and grief that accompanies the death of a family member. Her father had passed away only three weeks earlier; here she was, emanating both sadness and unbelievable strength. She sought refuge in her daily spiritual practice, which helped her unfurl her emotions and understand the part of life that is death.
I was clearly the her guest, but so was pain, and she welcomed us both and made space for us. We walked around Bed Stuy, we fried chicken and baked macaroni and cheese. There weren’t grand ceremonies or major events, but there was healing happening, and that pain and I were honored guests and she was able to be a host, I think, provided grounding for that healing.
As the lines for teachers and students are always reversible, so are the roles of guest and host as we nurture each other through pain. The bar is a place where we go when in pain. Someone I respect tremendously described this seeking out of our people in the torrent of sadness. Bar tenders the world over have, I imagine, witnessed pain walk in their doors and sit beside their guests. The best bartenders help make space for humans and our rags of feeling, pour the right drink — hopefully not as a bullet to obliterate experience — but as a gentle salve that becomes a part of the healing process.
The lesson for me is that hosting pain is an equal opportunity venture. It’s not something to shirk from or of which to be skittish. It’s not necessarily glamourous. It can, however, be a profoundly transformative act we do with each other. A time to practice hospitality, not as some saccharine, jovial, expression of entertaining, but as the way we look after each other and express care, even in the darker moments.
