Today, as I continued exploring the enlightened perspective I began writing about yesterday, more memories bubbled up, and I jotted those down too. At first, my reflections all seemed to arrive at the same insight, but I decided to challenge myself: what makes each memory distinctive in its own right?
I began to sense that every moment of suffering is perfect in a way. Suffering opens the door to enlightenment a little wider. The real tragedy isn’t the suffering itself, but rather when we fail to uncover its spiritual value—when suffering becomes, for lack of a better word, pointless. Yet, even pointless suffering opens another door when we recognize its futility. That realization allows for an even deeper awakening. Or at least, that’s my pseudo-spiritual theory of the day.
True or not, it helped me engage more deeply with each memory. Instead of stopping at the surface, I began to look for the unique lesson each one had to offer. Here’s one example:
Memory:
In high school, a teacher lost my assignment. He insisted I never turned it in and swore that, in over 20 years, he had never misplaced a single paper. I ended up redoing the assignment to avoid failing.
Surface response:
Our teachers, literal or metaphorical, show us more than how to live well—they also demonstrate what happens when we stay deeply unconscious.
Digging deeper:
This particular teacher embodied a life surrendered to pettiness and the desperate need to be right. He had become a bitter man, unrespected by students and colleagues alike. His refusal to admit fault mirrored a lifetime of stubbornness. What he clung to wasn’t truth, but a sliver of power—small, fleeting, and ultimately hollow.
I redid the work, and he “won.” But in doing so, he inadvertently showed me the cost of being right at all costs: isolation, bitterness, and the erosion of respect. That lesson sank in, even if I couldn’t articulate it at the time. To this day, I can feel its imprint whenever I choose to let go of being “right.”
Today, I see that each memory is a doorway into the psyche—or maybe a doorway into a castle, depending on your metaphor of choice. Either way, I’m more grateful for the painful memories than I was before. I’d always understood, conceptually, that bad memories hold valuable lessons. But doing a deeper dive helped me appreciate how each one plays a distinct role in building a better life.
Interestingly, it was also helpful to approach this without getting too specific. I focused on memory “hooks” I could recognize without reliving every detail. Sometimes, I grouped memories broadly, noting things like “various bad things one person did,” without digging into the specifics.
There’s certainly value in excavating full details—dates, places, even what people were wearing. But that kind of detail requires heavier intellectual lifting and is more suited for deep dives. When trying to identify larger patterns, the lighter skim was more useful.
Plus, it helped me avoid getting emotionally pulled back in. The “flies in a jar” concept—acknowledging the memory without letting it escape and sting you all over again—was especially helpful. There’s a skill in learning to emotionally detach from your own memories. Add that to the long list of things I wish they taught in school.