The Courage to Love – Interdependence
If you wish, you can watch the video here.
As we continue to journey through the courage to love, after first exploring intimate relationships, then loving ourselves, and last time courage to love in a world full of relationships, in this next post I want to look at how to relate to challenging people, and specifically how the Buddhist teachings of interdependence can support us in this.
As I sit with all that's unfolding in the world right now, I cannot ignore how hard it is to keep our hearts open to those we see as causing harm, especially when we don't understand their motives or when their actions seem fueled by cruelty or indifference. This is my own edge: when I can't see even a hint of care in someone's behavior, or when they appear harsh or disconnected from empathy.
And yet it's exactly here that the teaching on interdependence becomes essential in working with difficult people, and helps me see that closing my heart to them is like cutting off a piece of myself. Interdependence isn't just a lofty idea; it's a truth of how things are. Take the body. When we look closely, we see that it's made up of many parts, all in relationship, constantly changing. If we get the flu, our whole body aches. If we hurt our back, our knees and hips may start to strain. When something's off, we care for it, we rest, we adjust, we respond with compassion, because we know it impacts the whole.
When we widen our lens, we see that this body is also in constant relationship with the world around it—the air we breathe, the water we drink, the kindness or hostility we meet in others. We are a part of a vast relational field, whether we acknowledge it or not.
Yet when someone abrasive enters our space, our first instinct is often to push them away, to protect our own sense of well-being. And yet, something hardens inside of us. We lose our ease, our freedom. We become captive to our own distress. We also become selective in our care, diving the world into those we are kind to, and those we don't include. But that separation isn't aligned with truth and distances us from the reality that we're all in this together.
I've seen this in myself when I'm angry and I hold on tightly to that anger. We often justify our anger with righteousness, but deep down, we can feel the brutal cost of hardening the heart towards others or ourselves. This is also reflected in how we treat the earth. When we see nature as other, we justify exploitation, but when we remember that we're part of the same living, breathing system, care becomes a natural response.
When we really allow the truth of interdependence to sink in, which may happen only as a slow recognition over time, it can bring up resistance, grief or even anger. But even those feelings belong, because we are a part of this world, this moment, whether we like it or not. The only thing we can change is how we relate to it. So, we can begin with a small intention to meet life as it is, to not feed the fire of rage in ourselves or in the world, or fuel the wildfire of reactivity.
That doesn't mean condoning harmful behavior. Instead we can reclaim our ability to respond from wisdom and compassion, by not letting that harm dictate our response. This means we can stand steady, clear eyed and responsive, rather than reactive. We can choose care over collapse.
When we meet someone difficult, can we see their humanity, even just a sliver? Can we remember what it feels like to be consumed by anger, to act out of hurt or confusion, and let our hearts be touched by that? Can we really listen? We don't have to agree, or even like them, but can we remember that they are a part of this same world, this same body, like a sore rib or a stubbed toe, not separate and not discardable.
And we can ask ourselves, "What can I honor today? What can I value? How can I offer care to myself, to this world, even in a small way?” We begin here with this moment, with the courage to do the best that we can.