The Unbearable Lightness Of Being

This morning I was thinking about the unbearable lightness of being. Milan Kundera will have to forgive me for stealing his title, his line, his idea. It’s a wonderful book, but I was thinking less about the novel and more about the words themselves. The unbearable lightness of being.

I’m twenty years old and still cannot watch a full hour of the news without crying. It’s sort of something I keep to myself. In so many ways, I’m desperate to watch it each night, to stay updated on current events, to know what’s going on in the world. Unfortunately, I can’t let it stick to my brain the way I want it to. Instead it pours down me, through me, into the depths of me. I feel with every inch of me, the pain and suffering of the world. I think about the people they don’t show on TV; the families, the children, the spectators of it all. I weep for them. I weep for our world. I weep for our lives.

Sometimes it feels as though my heart is too big for me. I’m so consumed with emotion that I can’t function in a logical, practical world. I can’t let things roll off my back or stand as they are. I can’t separate the way that I feel from the way that I think. Perhaps because what I think, what I feel, is that they shouldn’t be separate. How can there be so little compassion in a world that needs nothing more?

It isn’t just that I can’t watch or listen to other people’s pain without feeling it too, it’s that I feel all their beauty and happiness as well. It’s always been my greatest strength and my greatest weakness that I feed off of the emotions of others. A friend in a bad mood can deter me from my night in an instant. A friend in a great mood can fill me with such delight that I wonder how anyone could ever possibly be sad in such a perfect world.

I am forever in awe of the way a flock of birds erupts from a tree into the limitless sky. The way raindrops dot the surface of the earth, hitting bodies of water as grand as the ocean and as poignant as a puddle, twinkling like stars as they become one with their brothers. The way the early morning light cascades over the roofs, pours down over the hillside, illuminating every object, moment, soul. A child laughs. A grown up laughs. Somewhere someone is saying I love you. Somewhere someone is hearing it. Two old friends reunite. Two new friends share secrets over coffee. A life comes to a comforting end. A new life begins. The universe continues on.

And I feel it. It aches deep within my heart, as though any second I will burst with gratitude. I think it stems from never feeling beautiful myself. As someone who’s not beautiful, I’ve learned to find, to seek it out, in everything around me. That’s why I can look at a rock and see a soul, why the stars burn my senses, why rain fills me with joy. That’s why I can see the world as an invitation for love. There’s a beauty that comes from feeling both happy and sad. There’s a comfort that comes from allowing myself to be human. There’s a lightness that comes from being.

And yes, sometimes it is unbearable. Utterly, painfully, beautifully unbearable, but always, always, always, worth experiencing.