Bittersweet

There’s some mysterious property in melancholy, something essential. Plato had it, and so did Jalal al-Din Rumi, so did Charles Darwin, Abraham Lincoln, Maya Angelou, Nina Simone . . . Leonard Cohen.

But what, exactly, did they have? I’ve spent years researching this question, following a centuries-old trail laid by artists, writers, contemplatives, and wisdom traditions from all over the world. This path also led me to the work of contemporary psychologists, scientists, and even management researchers (who have discovered some of the unique strengths of melancholic business leaders and creatives, and the best ways to tap them). And I’ve concluded that bittersweetness is not, as we tend to think, just a momentary feeling or event. It’s also a quiet force, a way of being, a storied tradition – as dramatically overlooked as it is brimming with human potential. It’s an authentic and elevating response to the problem of being alive in a deeply flawed yet stubbornly beautiful world.

Most of all, bittersweetness shows us how to respond to pain: by acknowledging it, and attempting to turn it into art, the way the musicians do, or healing, or innovation, or anything else that nourishes the soul. If we don’t transform our sorrows and longings, we can end up inflicting them on others via abuse, domination, neglect. But if we realize that all humans know – or will know – loss and suffering, we can turn toward each other.*

This idea of transforming pain into creativity, transcendence, and love – is the heart of this book.

But the field has also drawn criticism for ignoring an important swathe of human experience – such as sorrow and longing. Critics have charged that it’s biased toward an American sensibility that, as the psychologist Nancy McWilliams puts it, ‘subscribe[s] to . . . the comic rather than the tragic version of human life, the pursuit of happiness rather than the coming to terms with inevitable pain.’

This isn’t surprising; the entire field of psychology hasn’t paid much attention to the human potential in bittersweetness. If you’re a melancholic type, you might expect to find your deepest stirrings reflected somewhere in the discipline. But other than the ‘high sensitivity’ paradigm, the closest you’ll come is the study of a personality trait called ‘neuroticism,’ which is about as appealing as the name sounds. According to modern personality psychology, neurotics are fretful and insecure. They’re prone to illness, anxiety, and depression.

Neuroticism does have upsides. Despite their stressed immune systems, neurotics may live longer because they’re vigilant types who take good care of their health. They’re strivers, driven by fear of failure to succeed, and by self-criticism to improve. They’re good scholars because they turn concepts over in their minds and consider them at great length, from every angle. For an entrepreneur, the psychiatrist Amy Iversen told a publication called Management Today, the tendency to ruminate ‘can be channeled into obsessively thinking through a user experience, advertising strategy, or how to pitch a new idea, in the same way a creative could use this energy to memorise every line of a film script, or hone the finest detail of a play’s production.’

Whatever pain you can’t get rid of, make it your creative offering.