Our Wounds Are the Soil from Which Wisdom Grows

As I reflect on my nearly 50 twirls around the sun, it seems my wounds, losses, and mistakes are the very things that help me become the best version of myself.

Hi beautiful being,

When I was a boy, I thought my dad was not only the coolest, but basically a superhero. I wanted to be just like him. For years I read the books he read, played the computer games he played, watched the shows he watched, played the wargames he played, and so on. Since Lee regularly smoked cigarettes— specifically Camel Menthol Lights, if I recall correctly—naturally I wanted to smoke as well.

I even remember—when I was about six-years-old—smoothly sliding up to him while he smoked, and saying in a deep voice, “Hey pops, mind if I take a drag?” At least that’s how I imagine it. ;) That said, Lee did let little me have a smoke. Which I choked on and thought was the most disgusting thing ever. From that day on, I had zero interest in picking up that habit. It was much like learning to not touch a hot stove, by touching a hot stove. Do you know what I mean, friend?

Fast forward four or five years, when mom, dad, sister, and I went to church together on the base he was stationed at in West Germany. As we hung out in the lobby, dad would get coffee. In my quest to be mini-Lee, I did too. The only problem was, I thought it tasted terrible—even after I added ungodly amounts of cream and sugar. About three weeks into me making a yuck face as I attempted to choke the vile liquid down, dad came up and asked me, “Why are you drinking coffee?”

“Because you do,” I answered.

“But do you like it?” he wondered.

“No, not at all,” I replied.

With a lovingly thoughtful look in his eyes, dad said, “Then there’s probably no reason to drink it, don’t you think?”

(Little me getting my cake on 😍)

I think it’s fascinating how these two circumstances taught me valuable life lessons: (1) Don’t smoke, and (2) Be yourself, not a copy of someone else. Friend, did you have any experiences like that growing up? What did you learn from them?

These, and some painful situations I’ll share with you next, got me reflecting on the nature of wisdom, and where it comes from. It seems to me:

Our wounds—whether they come from our tastebuds being offended, our feelings getting hurt, our body suffering injury, the loss of an important relationship, or worse—are the soil from which wisdom grows.

(From Inspiring Quotes)

Of course, wisdom doesn’t just magically appear—at least not typically. While sometimes knowingness strikes you like a lightning bolt, as it did when I tried cigarettes; usually, it is a process. One in which you have to tend to, heal, and reflect on your wounds, in order for insight to arise from them. Take a few of my past friendships, for example. (Note, these aren’t their real names)

Alex and I hit it off right away. We were both heady guys, newly moved to the same city, passionately pursuing our faith—who also shared a good number of common interests. It was bromance at first sight. That said, not much over a year into our relationship, my career took me to a different state. While I did visit a few times, mainly during work trips, and the chemistry was still there—eventually the tides of life took us apart.

This taught me: Sometimes friendships—even really close ones—come and go like the weather. And as bright and beautiful as the “sunny day” of that relationship was—there’s nothing to do but be grateful for the warmth it brought into your life, and let it go.

(From Inspiring Quotes)

The bond I had with Blake was strikingly similar to what Alex and I shared; yet also quite different. Our friendship spanned decades, and we walked together through the stretches of life that brought me to my knees. In a twist of fate, the very devastations Blake helped me navigate, played a key part in tearing us apart. You see, before things like divorces and nearly dying rocked my world(view), we were on a very similar path when it comes to how one perceives and experiences humanity and the Divine.

This shared understanding, though, did not harmonize with the pain and loss I experienced. Friend, have you had such times when things that happened in your life didn’t mesh with your beliefs? As I discovered and delighted in new ways of relating with Source, as well as others, which rang truer to and better fit me—elements of stress, strain, and struggle infected my relationship with Blake. In part, it was like we went from walking together hand-in-hand through life, to being in a tug-of-war. Yet, believing we were the kind of friends who lasted—discord aside, there was still ample goodness between us—I kept “pursuing” him. By which I mean, I initiated things between us ~90% of the time.

Years later, I realized what had once been mutual affection, had become mere tolerance on Blake’s side of things. At least that was how I perceived it. What is more, I became keenly aware of the emotional toll our new dynamic was taking on me. So, while leaving the door open for him, I let him go.

Letting Blake go, taught me: Relationships are like a duet. If you don’t harmonize with one another, which has a strong element of choice, your melody—aka relationship—won’t work. What is more, while sometimes one voice is the lead in a duet; if over time that voice does nearly all the singing, it’s not a duet—it’s a solo act. So, let the duet/friendship go.

On that note, Carl and I had one of those relationships where you change together. The type where you push, nudge, and encourage one another in ways that foster greater inner freedom and wholeness. In other words, over the years, our duet remained a duet. Yet, I underprioritized him—in a variety of ways. So, our relationship slowly slipped away.

This taught me: Let people know what they mean to you. Make time for the ones who matter to you. Don’t let the flame of your relationship flicker away, because you can’t always rekindle it.

Losing each of these relationships wounded me deeply. The pain and sense of loss was, and still is, all too real. And … my wounds, or dare I say: Our wounds, losses, and mistakes are the soil from which wisdom grows. At least when we take the time to tend to, “water”, and cultivate it. And isn’t wisdom the flower from which an amazing life blooms?

What do you think, friends? I’m keen to hear from you in the comments. Where has your wisdom come from? What role have wounds played in your life?

Hugs & Love,

Lang (aka “Dr. Love”)

P.S. Did you know that clicking the “like” button 🤍 helps other people find this post—while bringing a smile to my face? Also, if you think this could aid anyone, please consider sharing and/or “restacking” it. And above all, remember: You are amazing, and I hope you have a beautiful day!