Is Suffering a Virtue?

Is the person who runs a marathon blindfolded better than the one who runs it simply? Is the man who does his work while whipping himself more commendable than he who does it without flourish? Is it of any value to have chosen to hard way? Is there a panel of judges somewhere awarding points for difficulty of execution?

I worry that I have developed a false perspective. Although it seems illogical and unsound, I so far have been unable to disbelieve that doing something the hard way is more valuable than doing it simply. Is this simple masochism, or is there something else at work? The court is now prepared to hear the case of Brandon V. The Easy Way.

Baking from scratch, reading literature in the original language, fasting, making my own jewelry. Is the hard way a means or an end? It wouldn't concern me so much, except that I seem to have chosen a very seriously hard way, namely to be attracted to men, and I worry that it is an invalid choice. It is just possible that I am doomed, in love and otherwise.

Everywhere I go, women are drawn to me. I sincerely believe that I could have a chance with any woman to whom I could be attracted. Has my subconscious declared that too easy, and correspondingly reduced the playing field by 90%? Is my attraction to men simply a more sophisticated version of the hair shirt monks once wore?

Is this life scored? Does the scoring correspond to some form of reward or punishment? What are the criteria? I can sincerely say that I have no desire to be rewarded for what scanty virtue I may posess. What is more accurate is to say that I wish to be acknowledged. I desire for there to be a reckoning, and to hear that I have done well, or even best.

The ideas of paradise and heaven have no power for me. I once was taught to believe that a good life would be rewarded with eternal, blissful life, but I could never get on board with that. In fact, bliss continues to have no appeal for me. I would choose life with a good deal of challenge and even a dash of misery in a heartbeat over life of untrammeled joy.

Have I set myself up? If I cannot be happy with happiness, is discontent my fate? Oddly enough, I don't think so. In fact, I have so little expectation of happiness, I have come to be content with the very barest of joys. At the same time, although I wouldn't care for perfect happiness, perfect success would ignite me like a floodlight.

On a larger level, this could turn out badly for me. If I cannot embrace happiness, how could I ever be in perfect alignment with the universe? Will there always be a black cord tying me to pain, no matter how earnestly I strive for the infinite? Or is it possible to finally release and declare that being happy doesn't make me weak and hedonistic?

Am I really so scared to be accepted by the universe that I cannot let go of pain and stoicism? Never let it be said that I am afraid to face the difficult truth, for every instinct is telling me that yes, this is precisely the problem. What would be so bad if I were actually to be acceptable the way I am? What harm could possibly come of it? None. Then why does it terrify me?