Compersion for the New Year

No, that's not a typo in the title. I did mean compersion and not compassion. I came across the term in some reading a few years ago (oh, the things you learn as a writer!) and it has stuck with me ever since because I think it fits a part of me that I never knew how to name. Compersion is a word coined by members of the Kerista Commune in the '70s, I believe, and it was used in the context of polyamory to describe the feelings of joy or happiness upon seeing one's partner(s) experiencing their own happiness. When you hear polyamory you might be tempted to zero in on romantic and sexual relationships. Of course, when speaking of polyamory and compersion together, that's going to be part of it. But this post isn't about polyamory. And no matter where the term originated, compersion doesn't necessarily have to be romantic or sexual in nature.

Photo by african_fi

Think about it. When someone else's happiness or joy causes you to feel your own happiness or joy. If you've never experienced it, maybe it doesn't make as much sense to you as it does to me. I think compersion is something I've experienced and expressed for as long as I can remember, in completely platonic ways. It's still something I feel to this day, in many circumstances. It's not quite the same thing as empathy, either. Empathy is when you can understand and identify with someone else's emotions, and perhaps experience them vicariously. But with compersion, it isn't that I'm identifying with someone else's happiness exactly. If a friend gets promoted at work, my empathy allows me to share in their excitement and identify with their happiness. If I experience compersion in that same scenario, what I'm feeling is my happiness. Does that make sense? Empathy and compersion can be experienced simultaneously, and they probably are quite often. I've only very recently (as in, just today) learned of the Buddhist concept/term mudita, which appears to be very close to what I mean when I say compersion. If you're familiar with that, perhaps that's a better framework to think of it. But since compersion is the term I've come to identify with, and I really know very little about mudita, I'll stick with compersion for now.

So anyway... why do I bring it up? Because in our society we often discourage talking about feeeelings past a certain age or beyond a certain scope that doesn't fit into predetermined stereotypes. You can "love" your friends, but you luuuurve your romantic partner (and by golly, you'd better only have one of those at a time, and you're always searching for The One who will show you that you obviously never really knew what love was!) and there's absolutely no in-between or crossover. Boys don't cry. Girls cry a lot. You're allowed to be angry, but not too angry! And so on and so forth, but most of all, nobody wants to really hear you talk about any of those feelings. And so when I experienced what I now identify as compersion at a younger age (and even still now) sometimes it led to feeling tremendously awkward and unsure. I never knew what to say or how to say it. I just knew that I would find myself in these moments of love and joy and happiness that centered around particular people. Friends, teachers, sometimes near strangers, family members. It might've been a simple smile, something small or large happening in their lives that brought them happiness, or even just their natural optimism on a particularly good day. It could be any or all of those things that triggered my own happiness in turn. And it can be potent, that happiness. But when you're a teen experiencing all sorts of complicated things, and no one ever stops and says "Hey, let's talk about happiness and touchy-feely emotional things," it's very easy to start wondering what the hell it is you're actually experiencing.

Growing up, I'd usually just keep my thoughts to myself, especially when they centered around feelings of compersion. Sometimes, though, it got to be too much, and words would just spill out of me. On paper, naturally, because that's how I've always chosen to express myself. (My shyness makes face to face expression of these things nearly unbearable.) So I'd write heartfelt thank you notes to teachers or friends. (Or I'd channel it into fiction if I couldn't bring myself to tell the actual person.) And I probably rambled a lot and tried to name specific things I appreciated about that person because it felt too weird to boil it all down to the simple truth: Your passion brings me joy. So I'd write the note, and I'd hand it over, and then I'd worry myself sick over how they might respond. I didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea about what I meant, because I was certain they would. It would be easy to interpret it as something other than what I'd intended. And I was so very afraid of looking stupid, or not being liked, and I would vow never to put myself out there that way again. And I wouldn't, for a while. But then the cycle would start over again.

My teen years went by like that. I'll be 32 this year, and somewhere along the line I really did stop taking the time to put myself out there and express to specific individuals how happy it made me to see their happiness. And if I did express it, it was in a much more careful and guarded way. I'm not sure why. I never did experience that Holy shit, you are such a creep, leave me alone response that I so feared. But I fear it still. Maybe even more now than when I was younger. I'd like to let my compersion be more readily visible again, though. Partially for purely selfish reasons. It just feels so damn nice to revel in that joy. But also because... well... maybe we all need more of it. Even if it's not a feeling you identify within yourself, imagine what it might be like if someone told you that the happiness you derive from the good things in life made them happy as well. Wouldn't that be pretty fucking fantastic? You didn't even have to bake them cookies or loan them money or cure a disease. Just being happy for something good within your own life was enough to make someone else smile. I think it would be pretty nice.

So to all my friends, family, acquaintances, and anyone I may come into contact with this year (and here's the real point of this post) I just want to say this: I'm not trying to be creepy, honest! Don't think me weird or strange or awkward (well, okay, I may very well be awkward) when I tell you how much I love the way you light up when you talk about something wonderful that you've experienced. I really do love seeing the passion you pour into your hobbies and the things you enjoy. That actor or artist you love. The new relationship that's making you walk without even touching the ground. The courage with which you face adversity. The rewards you reap from your hard work. Your book deal. That picture you drew. That kid you're raising. The animal you adopted. I love it. All of it. I'm not just happy for you in all those cases. You truly give me a joy and happiness of my own, the magnitude of which you may never truly understand, just by expressing the happiness those things bring you. Your passion brings me joy. I hope you don't mind if I say so.

For the Love of...

There's been a lot going on lately. Between Mother's Day, this guest blog post, the death of my husband's grandmother, and a friend's beautiful beach wedding all within four or five weeks, love has been on my mind. I've also been playing this song over and over again:

There's too many things I haven't done yet

There's too many sunsets I haven't seen.

You can't waste the day wishing it'd slow down

You would've thought by now

I'd have learned something.

I made up my mind when I was a young girl

I've been given this one world,

I won't worry it away.

Now and again I lose sight of the good life

I get stuck in a low light

Then love comes in

How far do I have to go to get to you?

Many the miles, many the miles.

How far do I have to go to get to you?

Many the miles

Send me the miles

I'll be happy to

follow you.

That's just the first part of the lyrics, but it fits me so well it's scary. Although I have those dark moments, I tend to worry very little. Sometimes the only thing I worry about is whether I should be worrying more. Then love comes in. I think my lack of worry comes from an abundance of love. I see it everywhere. I feel it everywhere.

Love is one of those tricky things. I had an email conversation with a friend about this recently. We try to quantify and qualify our love. We label it and separate it, careful not to mix the different types because... what? We're afraid of the implications of love, I think. We're afraid of what it means to admit--to ourselves or anyone else--that we love someone. If you're married or seeing someone, what does it mean to love someone else? I love him like a brother. I love her like I love all of my closest friends. Labeling it a different type of love feels safer. Loving someone doesn't mean you want to jump in bed with them, or marry them. It can mean those things, of course, but not always. We create this division of love in an attempt to define relationships and stake claims on each other's hearts.

We separate love into compartments and say It's okay to give X amount of this type of love, but only to one person. Or We can give a lot of this other type of love to all kinds of people because it's different, and it's not love love. And also, I will feel threatened by this type of love from this person, but not that type of love from that person.

But you know what? It's ALL love.

I'm not saying there aren't different types of love. The way I love my husband feels a little different than the way I love my kid brother. Or the way I love some of my friends. And yet there's something the same about it, too. A sweetness. A blissful feeling. An indescribable something that makes me happy whenever I think of a loved one.

I love a lot of people. I've always loved easily. I've debated whether it's a selfless tendency or a selfish one, because I can't deny that it feels good to open my heart. That doesn't really matter for today's post, though, because the point is still the same. 

Love begets love.

Our capacity for love is bigger than we give ourselves credit for. Once you've given it, you can choose not to give any more, but you can never take back what you've already released into the world. Acknowledging, accepting, expressing love doesn't take away. Not from you, not from anyone else you love. It just makes room for more love to grow, which you then can give again.

There is another point to this, besides me just waxing poetic about love. I've been involved with a project the past couple months, and I know some people may not understand why it's so important to me. But the answer is love.

Indies Unite For Joshua is a worldwide group of independent authors, publishers, filmmakers, and artists rallying to support a fellow writer.

Joshua is the 21-year old son of author, Maxwell Cynn. Max writes speculative fiction, science fiction, and romance. His son has been diagnosed with Acute T-cell Lymphoblastic Leukemia. The cancer has invaded every part of his body: brain; spleen; liver; lymph nodes; and he has a mass in his chest. Joshua has had to suspend his studies while undergoing aggressive chemotherapy and will not be able to graduate this semester. With three-and-a-half years of a 4.0 GPA toward a degree in philosophy, his peers and professors consider him brilliant, as of course, does his father. Joshua would have been the first person in Max's family to graduate college. 

To learn more about this amazing young man, read Max's incredible post.

I donated a guest blog spot to the campaign perks, and I recorded a short video to encourage support for the cause. Not to mention the tweeting and posting on Facebook that you may have noticed. Here's the thing, though.

Like most people involved in Indies Unite for Joshua, I've never actually met Joshua, or his dad. I know his dad from online communities like Twitter, and I think he's a great writer. I consider him a friend. As I say in my video, I care what happens to him and his family. How can I feel so strongly for someone I don't "know"?

Love.

I'm not a religious person. I don't pray. That has always been a foreign concept to me. What I do is love. I let it fill me up, I seek it out, I give it away.

To Joshua, and to David (Max) and Tricia: I love you guys! You are in my thoughts, and I'm sending your family all the loving vibes I can muster.

Now how about you? Are you ready to open yourself up to a bit of love? All it takes is a share. A tweet. A post on Facebook. If you're able, a couple dollars. One supporter has been giving two bucks a day. Could you do the same? We have 10 days and $1,100 dollars to go to meet our goal of $10,000. Click the Metallica baby picture above, or the widget in the top right sidebar to go to the Indiegogo site to donate.

For the love of Joshua, what can you do?

Back to the Sara Bareilles song from the start of this post: How far do I have to go to get to you? Many the miles. Send me the miles, and I'll be happy to.

Joshua, when you're better, send me the miles. I'll come down and buy you and your parents a round of drinks. Or two. :-)