solace

Last Wednesday, the writing prompt was about solace. The prompt from Megan Devine quoted poet David Whyte, and something about the subject 'raised her emotional hackles,' she explained. It was late in the day when I sat down to write, and frankly her introduction scared me off. I didn't even read the paragraphs from David Whyte. I decided I'd tackle the topic over the weekend.

In the meantime, I thought about solace. What did it really mean? I let the concept roll around inside my head. I determined that when I got ready to write about it, I'd look it up, check my idea of it against the dictionary definition. To me, solace was a kind of comfort, but it had a "despite this, there's that" quality to it, a consolation. It held within it something of the dreaded "at least"s — the kinds of things silver-lining people say to you in the midst of tragedy. A death after a long illness: at least he's not suffering anymore. A miscarriage: at least you can try again. The loss of a child: at least you have another one still alive. (This idea is explored beautifully in Brené Brown's short animated video on empathy.)

What is the best way to ease someone's pain and suffering? In this beautifully animated RSA Short, Dr Brené Brown reminds us that we can only create a genuine empathic connection if we are brave enough to really get in touch with our own fragilities.

The dictionary definition backed me up. It even used the same word, consolation. Then I couldn't help but think about a consolation prize. "You lose, but here. Have this."

And so I went ahead and read the excerpt from the David Whyte. I get why Megan is provoked by him saying that if we can stand in loss and not be overwhelmed, *then* "we become useful and generous and compassionate and even more amusing [really?] companions for others." I, too, buck against the idea that I have to meet a specific threshold — stand and not be overwhelmed — to fulfill the role of being useful.

He says solace is "the art of asking the beautiful question." What is that question in my situation? Is it "Why am I here?" Is it "What am I supposed to do now?" No. I reject the idea that there is a "supposed to." I don't believe there's a script I should be following, don't believe in fate or destiny or a divine plan for me. I like better, "So what do I do now?" No trying to meet expectations. Just the simple question, "What's next?"

I don't want consolation. That is, I suppose, I don't want to be in a position to *need* consolation. And yet here I am. Raging against solace as a concept, yet grateful for any comfort I can find in it, even in the "at least"s. "Solace is not meant to be an answer, but an invitation," he writes. I suppose I'll take it. I haven't got any better offers.