I hadn't showered in eight days. My entire body was covered in a thick layer of old sunscreen and insect repellent. The humidity of the Jamaican jungle stuck to my skin like cement and the bugs whirled around my face in pandemonium. The sun's rays beat down on my face and a bead of sweat skated down my nose into the grass. I was miserably hot and in desperate need of a cheeseburger and a real shower. But, as I walked through the soggy ground toward the gazebo, I realized that my problems were small and insignificant. The sounds of morning prayer filled the air with a pounding spirit as I entered the gazebo. 32 children in wheelchairs sat in rows, smiling, laughing, shaking tambourines. They could not walk, and most of them could not talk. My only present problem was the lack of a shower and American food. I looked around amidst the clamor and found peace in their happiness despite their troubles. My heart stood still at their smiles. I understood that these children were not present in full mental capacity, but I could feel the presence of their spirits. And their spirits were unequivocally happy.
It was here, deep within the Jamaican jungle, at an orphanage for the country's most vulnerable, the "unloved", that I discovered the power sadness and despair possessed over happiness. I asked myself, Does our fear of sadness impede our happiness?
The children in Jamaica were abandoned because they were disabled. Because they were not perfect. I could not help but feel a sadness for these children that I could not liberate. As my trip came to a close, I finally realized that the children were not sad or dejected, they were loved and respected. And for this, they were inherently happy. In the beginning, I chose to distance myself from the children. From the sadness. And by doing so, I distanced myself from feeling their happiness.
And, on the plane ride home, as I read Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Foer, I read this:
“You cannot protect yourself from sadness without protecting yourself from happiness.”
Foer's exploration of Oscar's grief and maturation throughout the novel is indicative of human nature and it's tendency to not want to feel pain or grief or sadness. But, he writes that feelings of anguish are adversities which the human spirit must always undergo and that suffering through sadness to feel happiness is a pathway to understanding the essence of the human entity. Because, after all:
“Feeling pain is still better than not feeling, isn’t it?”
