Loss

I've just finished an interesting book by a Buddhist monk who talks abut loss in a way I really liked.

He asks why it should be that, for example, when we leave a live concert by our favourite band we're on a high, filled with the energy of the gig, and how good the music made us feel. We walk home, not noticing the rain, buoyed by the fizzy feeling of having been at that live performance, having had been part of it on that incredible night. We don't think "oh, it's so sad. The concert is over now, and the band have gone, and i'll never get to see them again...I can't believe that's it".

Why don't we feel even remotely like this when we lose something, or someone, we love? Sure, it's fair to say "Well, I loved that person a lot more than I love Bruce Springsteen or U2", but I think it can't hurt to try to take the idea and use it when we feel like we most need comfort. Couldn't we say "What a great person/job/home/relationship - and how amazing that I got to be there!"

Obviously, sometimes the concert ends early, and you wanted more, but that's not usually the thing we remember about the performance; at least, it shouldn't be.

Cheesy, but it helps.