I’m lucky to be able to say that I haven’t experienced a debilitating event that has changed my current way of living. And to be able to say that during a raging international pandemic, is a truly humbling thing.

This isn’t to say that a tragedy of that type won’t befall me in my lifetime. In fact, knowing what I have now makes me consider the opposite: what a loss would make me feel, and how hard the blow would be.

If I ever do lose a part of myself–which I’ve lived with and known my entire life–how would I respond?

I wonder about these thoughts now, as the new film Sound of Metal (available to stream on Amazon Prime this Friday) explores this in an explosive and visceral way.

In Sound of Metal, Riz Ahmed plays Ruben, a heavy metal drummer who loses his hearing while on tour. And with that, he’s threatened to lose himself. At first, Ruben reacts how anyone would if they had to make sense of this new nightmare: confused, scared, and dismissive until ultimately realizing that he must either confront his new life’s reality or live in denial.

Read our ‘Sound of Metal’ review here.

To complicate things further, Ruben’s girlfriend (Olivia Cooke) is the guitarist and vocalist of their two-piece band.

So then, we now see the full scope of Ruben’s actual, and perceived loss: if he loses his hearing, he believes, he’ll lose his band; and in effect, lose her.

Under such saddening circumstances, how would I react?

Would I be able to accept the circumstances of my new life and the loss that comes with it?

As someone who loves music and plays guitar and piano, I’m sure I’d react in similar shock and heartbreak, as Ruben does.

But this also gets me thinking of the teachings that I’ve learned and picked up along the way from studying Buddhism, and what its practices could offer to me–or anyone undergoing traumatic change–at that time.

Don’t worry.

I’m first reminded of this quote from the Dalai Lama (A Policy of Kindness):

If you have fear of some pain or suffering, you should examine whether there is anything you can do about it. If you can, there is no need to worry about it; if you cannot do anything, then there is also no need to worry.

I certainly don’t want to trivialize anyone’s intense and real loss by merely reducing a solution down to offering a simple platitude, along the lines of “Don’t worry, be happy.”

Devastation and loss is something that should be mourned–it allows us to recognize and celebrate the importance it had on our lives.

But remembering that whether we can, or can’t, control something in our lives, means that to spend our time passively worrying about anything, is unhelpful.

Suffering, and non-attachment.

I also think of what it means to suffer.

And I’m reminded of this adage:

“Pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional.”

Suffering, then, is an ongoing, sustained action that we do, after a moment in which the pain has occurred.

Buddhism teaches that all forms of suffering come from the attachments we develop– we hold on to suffering.

So then, why do we sustain and prolong our suffering?

If pain is experienced in the immediate, why do we ruminate over suffering long after it’s occurred?

Perhaps because replaying that suffering, paradoxically, feels good. Because even though it makes us grieve, it orients us in safety, stability, and victimization.

I know that I can best prepare for change–even just the inevitable change of growing older–by trying to practice non-attachment every day, starting today.

Impermanence, and gratitude.

It’s a scary thing, though, to think about not having any attachments in your life.

I like being attached to my family, my friends, and myself. Understandably, we do these things to keep us safe, and psychologically sane.

But once we accept that nothing is ever really permanent–that we are “new” in every moment–this allows us to also appreciate everything we have, while we have it.

And when we lose it, we’re able to adjust to our new “now,” without longing for the past of what we once knew.

Like an Etch A Sketch wiped anew, we must begin again, as-is.

However, if I were truly living in the present, without attachments, then who would I even be?

What would constitute my “self”?

The illusion of a “self.”

If the identities that we create are just the summations of our past histories, made into this moment, what does that say about who we really are, versus who we perceive ourselves to be?

Would it be possible to be open to new experiences, and to grow, and evolve, if we choose to remain stuck in the past?

When he loses his hearing, Ruben’s identity is shaken, too. Beyond losing the ability to play the drums, he doesn’t accept that he is now a part of the deaf community, which he still sees as “other” than him.

I’d probably hurt more too, because of how drastically my conception of “me” would be shaken.

Not having attachments may make me think I had nothing. But maybe if I took the leap, and detached myself emotionally from everything, I would allow myself to live more authentically, and respond more honestly to my immediate moments without past judgments.

Kintsugi.

In these final thoughts, I’m also reminded of Kintsugi.

Kintsugi, the Japanese art of breaking (traditionally) vases and fusing them back together so as to show the beauty in a re-fortified piece, shows the strength and possibility of healing.

Nerdwriter’s video essay on Kintsugi: The Art of Embracing Damage encapsulates this perfectly, and is well worth a watch.

In Sound of Metal, Ruben, after an attempted surgical operation, struggles with embracing his deafness, failing to see that he would in fact be stronger, not weaker, if he did.

Acceptance.

Ultimately, Sound of Metal does set out to show that we can seek salvation and rebuild rather than wallow in self-pity and destruction.

Instead of just a downward spiral into self-imploding defeat, Ruben’s journey in accepting himself as someone who loses something dear to him is incredibly brave and incredibly realized cinematically.

In this way, Sound of Metal isn’t so much the insatiable Whiplash as it is closer to the meditative, painterly The Diving Bell and the Butterfly.

Sound of Metal shows acceptance perfectly when Ruben’s deaf teacher Joe (Paul Raci) says to him that he wishes that he could see him live peacefully, sitting alone, quiet, on a park bench.

Notice how the film opens–with the thrashing of drums–and how it ends–with Ruben ultimately sitting on a park bench in silence, at peace.

Ruben didn’t realize it, but what he thought was his outlet and release–noise–was really just chaos in his life. His deafness, and beyond that, acceptance, is now a gift that makes him stronger.

I think of the Zen story of the farmer, whose cryptic adage of  “maybe so, maybe not” to perceived tragedies and gifts in his life could never really be seen as either.

For we always see the short game, and not the long game.

So Sound of Metal makes me think that the next time I am confronted with a personal struggle, I’ll try to think of it as either a gift or an opportunity to embrace change.

And in those moments while I wait, I’ll sit and listen to the ever-present silence.