Birth of the Survivor

Last week, I talked about the death of the champion. It’s a dynamite-post, so I recommend going back and reading it. But if you don’t, here’s the ten-second version. The champion is that version of us that believes that we can be all-powerful. He thinks he is, or ought to be, able to do everything he sets his mind to. This isn’t just the high school bully who picks on people because he’s stronger. This is also the wimp who beats himself up for not being better. The champion runs deep inside of us and is often a coping mechanism for some deep and good things, like protecting a loved one. 

But even when our hearts are pure, sometimes the world doesn’t go the way we want it to. We don’t have the power to stop cancer, car crashes, or wars on our own. That simply isn’t how it works. So this side of us that believes that we can always make the right things happen has to die. We need to come to terms with the fact that our will won’t always be done. It’s a brutally bitter pill to swallow, but the minute we do, we can step into a truer life. One where we are free to stop lying to ourselves about who we can truly be. We can shed the weight of the world and live in who we actually are: small pieces in a much bigger puzzle. 

How do we do that, though? What does that look like? I want to call this new version of us the survivor. The survivor is far more tenacious. He bounces back from setbacks and refuses to let individual defeats hold him down. If the champion is a brick wall, the survivor is a ping-pong ball. He can handle losing a few battles if it means winning the wars. 

This might be the dude that fails to get the girl, but refuses to give up on the idea of having a family. He might have the label turn him down, but won’t quit on becoming a famous musician. He might throw in some cheesy line about how every no leads to the right yes, or he might blindly punch through til he gets to where he wants to be. Either way, he doesn’t let his individual losses stop him from getting to his long-term goals. 

How do we be him, though? If you were to think about the worst thing you’ve ever been through, odds are you wouldn’t want to go through it again, right? Yeah, me neither. But that’s kind of what the survivor is called to do. He’s supposed to fight again, step onto the battlefield again, to love again, to care again. How do you do that? How do you press through something really bad, when you know how bad things could get? 

This isn’t just a matter of being tough or not. You can press through something and be alright-ish, but it’ll still leave its mark. Bitterness, resentment and anger may try to knock you out after tragedy strikes. I think a lot of it is the story we tell ourselves. We might talk about how much we suffered, how unfair things ended, or how rotten life has been afterwards. Or, we could talk about the middle. The part where everything was good, and how great things were for a time. 

It’s kind of like how we say such nice things about people at funerals, but we all know the person wasn’t perfect. We all know that our sweet grandpa Joe had a temper. Yet, we make him out to be a saint, even if just for an afternoon, to make sure that we remember him well. What if we did the same for ourselves? Isn’t that why we’re hurting to begin with: because we were given something good to get attached to? Why don’t we try to remember all our stories the same way we remember the dead. Maybe life would be a little easier to bear that way. 

Make no mistake: I’m not saying that this is an easy thing to do. I have had some rough times that left some scars, so I get it. But sometimes it takes a little conscious effort to shift your focus when you retell your stories. I remember I once had a breakup that was brutal. Everyone around me was checking in practically every week to see if I was doing alright. It was a tough time, but at the end of it all, the way I remember that story is that I was in a bad spot, everything went crumbling down, and I was planted in a better one. I grew a whole bunch and life got better. I still had some things going on that hurt, but they pushed me into a better spot that changed who I am today. I’m grateful for some of those times, and the little dude who pushed through to see the fruits of his labor. 

But sometimes, things get so dark that it feels like you just can’t do it. Spike certainly couldn’t. He couldn’t fend off the wall of zombies that chased him and his dad. He couldn’t handle his liquor when he got back. What do you do then? I wish I had a clean-cut answer for this, but it’s not that simple. I think of Bruce Lee in those darker times, how he talked about being like water. It keeps flowing in the same direction, despite the setbacks. Maybe the next relationship takes longer because you got cheated on. Maybe you’re obsessively thorough about buying your next car because your last one was more of a piece of work than you realized. Whatever the case, you have to keep taking steps, even if they’re just baby ones, in the right direction. If you keep stepping, eventually you will find yourself on your feet. 

The big thing, though, is to learn to separate the pain from the lessons. To heal. That’s what living again truly means. I think a lot of us only half-heal. We take the first step and bundle ourselves up in gauze, to the point where nothing can touch our bullet-wounds. We even stay inside, where we don’t have to risk those wounds re-opening. It’s a good way to deal with the initial shock, but we never leave that mindset. Eventually, the bandages have to come off so that we can use those parts of us again. Eventually, we have to risk re-exposure to be able to truly live once more. 

Sometimes this comes naturally over time. We forget the sting of the ex and we fall in love again. But sometimes, we have to be intentional about our recovery. If you’ve ever broken a bone, you’d know that a limb that has just come out of a cast is a lot weaker than it used to be. You have to focus on re-strengthening it, diligently training just to be able to do stuff that would be considered normal. And this might require help. You might need to find a guide who knows more about the problems you are having. Or you might need some time in your own head, rearranging the way things are. 

I think the bottom line is to say that the survivor replaces his brute strength with wisdom. He learns where he needs to dig his heels in and when to retreat. He knows when to take risks and when to admit loss. He knows when to blindly bounce back and when to focus on the pain. He trades all his attachment to specific outcomes to be able to be like water, flowing in the same direction, no matter how many obstacles get in his way. And this, ultimately, turns him into a hero. This helps him rise above, conquering more than a champion ever could. 

Until Next Time

May Peace be your Guide.