The Gift of Pain: Dancing with the Unwelcome Messenger

The following is a re-write (in my own words) of my brother Dr. Ron Newman's article, "Seeking Balance in Pain Management," which originally appeared in the Hammonton Gazette. Ron has more than three decades experience as a psychologist and international speaker.

Pain is a paradox. It’s this raw, electric jolt in your brain, a signal screaming that something’s off. But here’s the twist: it’s also a gift. Without pain, we’d be clueless as our bodies broke down. Think of leprosy patients losing fingers to unnoticed cuts, or diabetics ignoring festering sores. Pain is the whistleblower, a friend who won’t shut up until you listen. Even phantom pain, the haunting of a missing limb, proves it’s not just flesh and bone. It really can be in your mind as well. 

In other words, pain is not just physical; it weaves through emotions, relationships, and the psyche too. Studies say psychological tricks can slash suffering by 25-30%, even 50-100% for some fortunate souls. So, what if we stopped fighting pain and started working with it? Here’s my brother's take on finding that balance—and why pain might just be the gift we never asked for.

Make Peace with the Messenger

Pain’s not the enemy—it’s the lookout. Without it, how would you know the stove’s hot or that a splinter’s digging in? It’s the same with emotional stabs—conflict, loss, regret—they point to what needs fixing. Befriend it. Let it guide you to the problem instead of just numbing it out. Next time your back aches or a fight stings, ask: what’s this telling me? It’s not here to ruin you; it’s here to save you.

Stare Down the Fear

Fear of pain is a beast—it grows when you dodge it. Therefore  Run too hard, and you’re sprinting straight into worse traps, like popping pills until you’re hooked. Face it instead. Let a little pain in—it keeps you real, humble, tethered to the dirt of life. It’s a signal, not a sentence. Ignoring it hands it the reins; confronting it keeps you in the driver’s seat.

Build Your Crew

Pain’s lighter with good people around. Lean on friends who get it—ones who listen, not lecture. Set boundaries on people who are demanding, the manipulators, or anyone peddling quick fixes that land you in deeper muck. Professional help or a wise friend can be gold here. You don’t have to carry it solo—God wired us for connection.

Toss the Blame Game

Forget “karma” or anyone smugly saying you earned this. That junk—your pain’s payback for some cosmic debt—just buries you in shame and helplessness. It’s not about past lives or ancestral curses; it’s about now. This type of thinking makes one feel more hopeless, powerless and passive. Reject it. It's the complete opposite of how you want to approach the issue at hand.  

Accept Responsibility

You’re not powerless. Take the wheel. If exercise and stretching helps, do it.  No one’s spoon-feeding you solutions—you’ve got to step up. Self-mastery isn’t sexy; it’s sweat and choice. But it’s where the gift starts shining—you’re not just surviving pain, you’re taking control.

Find the Good Stuff

Gratitude is a game-changer. Norman Cousins laughed his way through a killer illness, proving that a positive attitude can outpunch despair. It's a well-worn maxim that says laughter is the best medicine. Pain’s loud, but gratitude’s louder. Notice the coffee’s warmth, the sunset’s glow, a kid’s giggle. It’s not denial—it’s defiance. You’re telling pain it doesn’t own the story.

Grieving Is Healthy

Pain often drags loss in its wake—a leg gone, youth fading, dreams dented. Grieve it. Don’t bottle it up or fake a smile. A vet mourning a missing limb or an old-timer missing their prime—they’ve got a right to that ache. Grieving’s not weakness; it’s the slow burn that clears the way for something new. All loss has an appropriate grief cycle which is important to accept.  Give yourself permission to experience grief.  It will bear fruit later.

Push Back

Sometimes pain’s a glitch—your brain misfiring long after the wound’s healed. Overuse painkillers, and it might scream louder. Challenge it. Tell yourself, “I’m whole,” and act like it. It’s not mind-over-matter nonsense; it’s rewiring the signal. And if you’re leaning on faith, call on that too—God has got a track record of turning scars into stories.

Live Life to the Full

Don’t let pain bench you. Get a massage. Belt out a song. Stare at a painting or a forest until it sinks in. Push the limits—not reckless, but bold. Pain might tag along, but it doesn’t get to call the shots. God still has a purpose for you. Live like it.

Feed Your Soul

There are many great stories and books worth reading that deal with things you may be going through. Here are a few that my brother recommended in his article:

Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand, where a POW outlasts hell.

Your Scars are Beautiful to God by Sharon Jaynes. 

The Problem of Pain by C.S. Lewis, wrestling with suffering’s "why" questions.

Even Lord of the Rings, with Frodo hauling that ring through Mordor. 

Watch films that lift you—tales of guts and grace, and overcoming. They’re not just stories; they’re fuel for the fight. Here are three that came to mind as I thought about these things: 127 Hours (James Franco) about a hiker trapped by a boulder in a remote canyon; The Pursuit of Happyness (Will Smith) about a homeless single father's battle to overcome poverty and rejection to become a stockbroker; The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, based on the memoir written by Jean-Dominique Bauby after a massive stroke in which he could move only one eyelid. All three are amazing true stories.

* * *

Pain can be a brutal gift, no question. But it’s also a teacher, a compass and a nudge toward something bigger. Balance isn’t killing it—it’s dancing with it. Acceptance and defiance, grace and grit. That’s where the magic hides. What’s your pain pointing you toward today?

Recommended Reading: 
Stigmata X, a poem by Terry Anderson, a journalist who was taken hostage in Beirut in the 1980's. When released after seven years he shared his story in a powerful book titled Den of Lions.

https://pioneerproductions.blogspot.com/2008/01/stigmata-x.html

"Isn't It A Pity." Harrison's Words More Relevant Than Ever

On Thursday evening one of the members of our Toastmasters group gave a speech titled "We All Have Something To Say."  She began by talking about the breakdown of community discourse and the barriers that separate us. One of these is our increasing social anxiety, but there are other kinds of barriers to connectedness as well. 

The statement that especially jumped out for me--besides the shocking statistics she shared--was this one. When our inner thoughts are bottled up inside us, we live a diminished existence.

This is a recurring theme in many George Harrisons songs: love, meaning and connection. Within You Without You from Sgt. Pepper speaks of this in a sense, as does "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" on The White Album. Even "Blue Jay Way" from Magical Mystery Tour speaks with solemnity about being lost, alienated, in a fog.

Isn't It a Pity doesn't appear on a Beatles album.  Rather, we find it on Harrison's solo album All Things Must Pass after the Beatles' breakup. The surprising thing is that it was written in 1966, the year Revolver was recorded in released. 

As nearly every Beatles fan knows, the agreement John Lennon and Paul McCartney made with George was to limit the number of Harrison songs on each album. Many people, therefore, were surprised at how prolific George became after the breakup of the Fab Four. 

I'm fairly certain that I was not the only one who kept buying albums by all four of the Beatles after they split. All Things Must Pass was George's offering in November 1970. I snapped it up and found it rewarding from the first time. The album was produced by Phil Spector, who also took the thousand-plus hours of studio mish mash and crafted Let It Be for the Beatles. (Paul didn't like what Sector produced, and remastered it in 2009. Beatles fans, however, were grateful that SOMEONE stepped up to the plate and finished this project. I still remember the first time I listed to it that fall.)

One of the great features of All Things Must Pass are the jam session recordings on sides five and six. Clapton and other musician friends really rock it out, knock it out of the park. 

Isn't It a Pity is essentially two stanzas with the first one repeated again as the third. It initially sets the tone, gets amplified in verse two, then serves as an echo of itself as verse three. Here are the lyrics, carried forward by an swelling and ebbing undercurrent of lament.

Isn't it a pity
Isn't it a shame
How we break each other's hearts
And cause each other pain
How we take each other's love
Without thinking anymore
Forgetting to give back
Now isn't it a pity

Some things take so long
But how do I explain
When not too many people
Can see we're all the same
And because of all your tears
Your eyes can't hope to see
The beauty that surrounds us
Now, isn't it a pity

Isn't it a pity, 
Now, isn't is a shame
How we break each other's hearts
And cause each other pain
How we take each other's love
Without thinking anymore
Forgetting to give back
Now, isn't it a pity 

The pity here isn't just that we cause each other pain. It's that we cause our own pain, but don't see it. And as a result we also miss the beauty that surrounds us.

What is it that causes this cycle of suffering? Forgetting to give back, he sings. 

Our own self-centeredness leaves us isolated. Perhaps its our personal feeling of self-importance that causes us to have a sense of entitlement, so we don't really appreciate what others do for us. We wanted (expected) more so that instead of gratitude we feel disappointment. As a result of our sense of self-importance, we generate our own isolation.

Here are three versions of the song. The first is George Harrison's original, remastered. The second is Eric Clapton. The last is Nina Simone.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eDrLTW_sesI

Eric Clapton (Live)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pKu4U0YQBRo

Nina Simone
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LLn3FT9BsRs

* * * *

Are we building walls or building bridges? Eleanor Rigby comes to mind. "Ah, look at all the lonely people."

And this one from Bob Dylan's "Fourth Time Around": "Everyone must give something back for something they get."

* * * *

The other problem Harrison pinpoints is the notion of we/they. "Not too many people can see we're all the same," he sings. 

Our culture has become increasingly splintered along many fault lines. We see this not just in political spheres, but also gender, race, religion and more. We've lost sight of our essential and fundamental humanity, the "essence" that we share in common. A quest for meaning. A hunger for hope. A creative urge. Personality. Bone, flesh, blood. A need for affirmation.

We're really all the same. How have we lost sight of this?

One Too Many Mornings

Lately I’ve been learning song lyrics so I could do more performing, especially a few Dylan songs. I’ve always been the backup guy doing harmonies and playing harmonica, but I have a good voice and the only thing that was really stopping me from singing was laziness. I just didn’t make the time to learn the lyrics. So when it came my turn to suggest a song to the group I never had anything prepared.

Well, I’ve decided to change that, and it’s turned out to be more of a blessing than I expected. It’s one thing to listen to songs, and quite another to memorize them. In learning the song, you discover many nuanced elements you previously had missed. It’s probably something akin to my friend John Heino’s remark regarding his photography in which he recently stated, “I am seeing more than I ever saw before.” So it is that even though I’ve been listening to and appreciating Dylan music for near half a century, as I learn the lyrics I find still more reasons why the man has been so profoundly influential.

As you listen to this song, the introspective subject matter gives me the feeling that it would have been more at home on Another Side of Bob Dylan, his fourth studio album, than where it appeared on The Times They Are A-Changin’. The two albums do have a resonance as he was still in the unplugged period of his early career.

The first stanza runs like this:

Down the street the dogs are barkin’
And the day is a-gettin’ dark
As the night comes in a-fallin’
The dogs’ll lose their bark
An’ the silent night will shatter
From the sounds inside my mind
For I’m one too many mornings
And a thousand miles behind

Several things strike me here. First, there are the dogs. Here he uses the dogs to portray the sound of day and the sound of night, but as the stillness of the night settles in, there are other sounds shattering that silence, that stillness… the sounds inside his head.

The title of the song is introduced in the refrain, “For I’m one too many mornings and a thousand miles behind,” a grim assessment of his situation, delivered with eloquence and pain.

This introduction to the story is elaborated in the second stanza.

From the crossroads of my doorstep
My eyes they start to fade
As I turn my head back to the room
Where my love and I have laid
An’ I gaze back to the street
The sidewalk and the sign
And I’m one too many mornings
An’ a thousand miles behind

The first image is of a crossroads. Throughout literature and song we see references to crossroads. Tom Hanks in Castaway comes to a crossroads near the end of the film after he has returned from being lost. Blues singers of all stripes have put it out there, “I went down to the crossroads…” Fate and destiny are all wrapped up in the image.

The narrator stands on the doorstep, and for him it’s a crossroads moment because the highway is calling. He’s torn, and looks back to the bed they have shared. But then he looks once more to the street.

The word selection is interesting, because he looks out then back and then out but never uses the word look. He is on the doorstep, then turns his head, then gazes to the street, to the sidewalk and the sign. There is no beautiful vision here as his eyes start to fade. And we’re back into the refrain about their dying relationship and the weight of its emptiness.

Then verse three emerges, the summing up.

It’s a restless hungry feeling
That don’t mean no one no good
When ev’rything I’m a-sayin’
You can say it just as good.
You’re right from your side
I’m right from mine
We’re both just one too many mornings
An’ a thousand miles behind

If you’ve ever experience this communication impasse you know how agonizing it can be. Misunderstanding, mixed up emotions, communication breakdown.

At the beginning of the song we here dogs barking, but how well can they articulate the nuanced meanings of language? Here in this last stanza, even with language there is no communication.

Everyone knows how painful breaking up can be. The pop way of saying it is expressed in a song like “Breaking Up Is Hard To Do.” Dylan’s poetic images may convey the same message, but in a manner more in keeping with the real rawness of that experience.

A few years later Dylan gave us a whole different take on the breaking of day with his song and album New Morning. Whatever he was experiencing here has been left behind and the songwriter is on a new page.