The Parable of the Friend at Dawn

As the story goes, the parable of the friend at night is where a tired traveler approaches a household that does not have much for itself, let alone others. When the traveler persistently asks for food, the owner of the household rises despite the inconvenience of it all and offers him three loaves of bread.

Whether or not you’re religious, you can recognize the value of parables and the lessons contained within them. They are tidy distillations of key life moments that give one some guidance as to how to navigate a much messier reality.

A few weeks ago, I tried to extend an olive branch to someone that I was estranged from in jiu jitsu. It did not go well. I felt horrible and sad and…indignant. The phrase “how dare they” pushed its way into my psyche more than once in that first week, as I tried to process and make sense of how the heck I even got to this point. I called friends and got some closure; I had a few weird nightmares about the person in question. It was a rough week.

Over the years, I’ve vacillated between two extreme thoughts: a) that I deserve good things and b) that I don’t deserve good things/if I do deserve them I need to earn them. After all the back and forth I think what comes down to it is less about where I am on this spectrum and more about getting clear on what “good” means to me.

When I really look back on my life experiences (even the fuzzy ones), I realize that the definition of “good” has always been shifting and taking on hundreds of hues like a day octopus. Speaking of which, the day octopus has the ability to change colors not just against the environment they are in but in contrast to it as well. Each chromatophores is directly connected to the neural networks in the octopus brain, making them the ultimate specimen of mind-body connection.

I do not think I’m as competent as a day octopus when it comes to the connection between my mind and my body. Nowhere is that painfully apparent than in what I’ve attempted to nail down as “good” over the years.

Without going into extreme details, I would say that the times in which I’ve felt the most agitated, lost, or depressed was when my external definition of “good” clashed against what felt “good” on the inside. Instead of having neural networks tapped into my body, I got really good at dismantling those connections.

But I’m thankful, that every time, when my attempts to cut off that connection get too extreme, I learn a lesson about the futility of my efforts when certain symptoms start to emerge. The first thing to go is my skin (which I suppose makes me more octo-like?), which makes sense because skin is an organ for humans, too. (I also like to think it is a form of poetic justice because burying things under the surface can only sustain you for so long before it all comes out.)

In contrast, when I have alignment between what I believe to be good on the inside and what actions I take on the outside, transformations are as effortless as the octopus changing colors, even while sleeping. My skin is healthier and there’s positively a glow around me. I feel like I’m oozing with contentment. These moments are precious to me because they haven’t been in the majority. I’m hopeful, though, that this too will change.

With the estranged relationship, I thought I had a clear idea of what was good when I took the first step to try to repair it. I would be able to train with this person again and even enjoy their jiujitsu merch. I would be able to convince them that I was right all along, and that they were wrong. Unfortunately, it did not go that way, but I see now the way things did turn out is actually a gift.

What I was looking for that day was less about trying to salvage a lost friendship. I had thought this was what I wanted — what I thought was “good.” In reality, the rejection, as much as it hurt, showed me that what I really wanted was inner peace. On and off for the past 3 years I’ve thought about this relationship, what I could have done differently, what they should have done differently, and whether things could go differently in the future. That inner turmoil affected not only my jiu jitsu but also how I operated at work and in my personal time, too.

And so, I’ve settled on this for myself, for now: that what is “good” is not about the inside or the outside but about the state of harmony that exists between the two.

Persisting when we are in turmoil is what we call resilience; understanding that others feel the same is what we call empathy. Recognizing when we feel misaligned is what we call mindfulness; knowing how to bridge that gap is what we call wisdom.

Postscript

As Night turns to Dawn, perhaps it is not the weary traveler knocking at the door. Perhaps it is the friend inside the house that rises, opens the door, and wakes the weary traveler with a smile and three loaves of bread. Perhaps, in that moment, we see that the darkness and the light are not so different after all.