# Suffering

**Published by:** [JovianSol](https://paragraph.com/@joviansol/)
**Published on:** 2025-05-31
**URL:** https://paragraph.com/@joviansol/suffering

## Content

Dispair - Edvard Munch Sometimes at night, I find myself thinking about suffering. It comes in so many different forms, so many different flavors, and it really gets to me. I can be going about my day, and then a thought will just lodge itself in my mind, and boom, I'm in tears. The most recent thing has been these dogs next door. The owner leaves them outside. They have a space, it's a relatively medium-sized space, but it's confined. I think about how their entire life, probably ever since they were puppies, they've only known that yard. Just that one patch of dirt and grass to watch the world go by. They don't go inside, doesn't matter if it's blazing hot or freezing cold. They're always out there. I imagine they've probably never been to a dog park, never chased a ball across a huge field, or splashed in a lake. Their world is that enclosure. And that's just it. That is just their life. The thought emotionally punches me in the stomach, and I don't know why. It keeps me up some nights. I lie there and wonder why I even care so much. It's not like they're my dogs. I try to tell myself that maybe they aren't even suffering that much. Maybe they're content, in their own way. They have food, water, shelter of a sort. But then I think about the lack of new smells, new experiences… The sameness of it all. Is a life without variety, or freedom to explore, a truly full life? Even for a dog? I don't know. But the thought of their confinement and their routine that never changes, it just feels heavy. Sometimes I wish I could just take all suffering away. Just wave a magic wand and not have people, or animals, experience the pain that they do. It's a childish thought, I know. I understand very well that hardship, that pain, is often a catalyst for growth. We learn from it, get stronger, and develop resilience. It shapes us. But then there are times when I look at certain situations, and it feels like the suffering isn't really doing anything for anyone. It's just causing… well, suffering. Empty pain that serves no obvious purpose. I remember in my college days, when I experimented with psychedelics, I would experience these profound waves of sadness. A deep emotion for all of those in my life, and even for people I didn't know. It was like a veil lifted, and I could almost feel the collective weight. I would think of the different micro-expressions people make. Those tiny, fleeting looks that betray us and reveal something deeper. The way my mother might joke about a particular topic, a little too brightly, while cleaning a surface that didn't really need to be cleaned, just for the sake of having an activity to pour her nervous energy into. Or the way people on a video call, at the very beginning, always seem to look to their right or their left to adjust something that isn't there, a little twitch before they settle into their online persona. I think of these things, these small gestures, and I don't know why, but it makes me think of suffering. Little shields. Tiny ways we try to protect ourselves, to manage our unease, to keep the world at bay, or to keep our true selves hidden. Why do we do this? Then my mind goes to the grander structures of suffering. The things you see on the news, or read about, that are so big they're hard to comprehend. The fact that there are kids halfway across the world who's homes literally have been turned to rubble. Their childhoods stolen by sounds and sights no child should ever experience. Or the fact that there are hundreds, if not hundreds of thousands, of children, women, and men stuck in unimaginable situations, like in shipping containers, trafficked, lost, with no one having any hope of finding them. Their existence is a kind of suffering that's almost too vast to hold in your mind. And when I think about that, it really puts my own life into perspective. I question how I have the audacity to complain about… well, anything. My bad day at work, the traffic, the internet being slow. These things feel so trivial, so insignificant, when measured against real, life-altering, soul-crushing suffering. Sometime once said something to be that went like like, "Someone out there would trade anything to be in your position”. I try to keep that in mind every day. I try to practice gratitude for the fact that I am alive, that I have food, shelter, that I'm in a place of relative safety. It's rough, though. It's a constant balancing act. I don't necessarily know how to stop feeling this sort of weight of suffering that the world experiences. I don't see it in a completely doom-and-gloom way either. I know that suffering can be remedied, sometimes. People can heal, situations can improve. There is resilience, there is kindness, there is action. But at the same time, it happens in so many different varieties and flavors, on so many scales, that it becomes overwhelming. If I could change anything, at the very least, I wish for the people that are in my life to not suffer so much. Or to suffer less, if that makes sense. Whether it be the loss of a loved one, which is a pain so deep it feels like a part of you is gone. Or the loss of an animal, a companion whose absence leaves a quiet, empty space in the house. Or even losing a job, with all the uncertainty and fear that comes with it. I wish we could all just skip that. Just bypass the mess of it all. Again, I know this can be an extreme catalyst for growth. I've seen it. I've experienced it. Without suffering, without challenges, we might honestly go stagnant, maybe even a little crazy from the lack of contrast. But it still stings me nonetheless, that fundamental unfairness of it, and I don't know why it affects me so deeply. Maybe it's just empathy, or maybe it's something else. Everyone carries around their own little weight, or sometimes a big weight. And all I can ever think of is trying to have compassion and empathy for these individuals. Because deep down, under all the adult layers, the responsibilities, the worries, there's still a kid. A kid who liked firetrucks, or collected smooth rocks in the shape of hearts, or had a favorite cartoon. They, too, were kids that just grew up, got older, and now have to do adult things, navigate a complex and often painful world. And maybe remembering that, remembering the child within everyone, is the only way to make sense of the weight we all carry. Share

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