Richard Rohr says that all great spirituality is about letting go. In a statement that feels very much like a summary of the Second Noble Truth, he describes letting go as “the struggle to forgive reality for being exactly what it is right now.” Much like in Buddhist thought, Rohr says we won’t get very far in our spiritual life until we can do just that. As we seek to let go in this way, the two paths that help us do this are great love and great suffering.

This past week, I’ve tried to remind myself throughout the day, “Everyone is suffering.” You’d think this would be the most depressing practice of all time. But surprisingly, I’ve found that it has made me incredibly tender-hearted. And, even more surprisingly, perhaps, it has helped me also to see the joy. It makes me wonder if the two paths of love and suffering always eventually merge into the same path. Or perhaps it’s a way of walking the same path with two different experiences. What if we could realize that even in our suffering, great love is there waiting for us?

My oldest child is a senior this year, which has me all in my feelings, as you can imagine. As I sat in a senior parent meeting last week, listening to all the upcoming events for the year, taking note of all the college application deadlines and requirements, hearing the urgency in parents’ voices during the Q&A, the truth of suffering felt so real. I picture these seniors, most of whom now tower over me, and still I remember their cherubic faces from kindergarten, or that time they came over for a playdate before middle school hit and so many of them stopped being friends. There are so many memories, so many layers of stories that weave together the people sitting in this room.

And here they will be, in a few short months from now, donning graduation gowns and heading across the country, leaving behind parents who have tended scraped knees and broken hearts, set out vitamins next to the orange juice every morning, driven in rush hour traffic to get to the game on time. Our houses will be empty, suddenly, after eighteen years of them being filled with the noises of childhood. Parenthood is such a powerful example of the beauty and suffering of life. We raise them and then we must let them go.

But there is great love underneath the truth of this suffering. It is because we love them that it pains us so much to see them go.

My husband and I watched a documentary on soccer player Lionel Messi the other day. (We’re crazy about futbol around here.) Messi is one of the greatest players of all time, with a storybook career that includes being signed to FC Barcelona at the ridiculously young age of 13. But the tendrils of suffering reach in and out of his life, too. In order to make it at Barca, he and his father had to leave their family behind in Argentina. Messi deeply felt the responsibility of having to watch his family make these sacrifices in order to give him an opportunity to shine. (The same thing holds true for all families of elite athletes. It requires so much sacrifice.)

A handful of top-flight players interviewed mentioned how much they would love to be Messi–just for a day, just for one match, just for two minutes. They wanted to feel what it’s like to have that kind of unbelievable skill and talent. And yet, even the greatest soccer player of all time does not experience that talent without suffering. Because he did make it, and he became the most dominant player in the world. But when he returned home to play for his beloved Argentina in the World Cup, he missed a penalty shot and got berated by thousands of fans who turned against him on a dime.

Being the best in the world isn’t enough, apparently.

All of us have been the Argentinian World Cup crowd, greedy in our desire to win at everything in life. We do not have room for the greatest player of all time to be a human who misses a penalty shot. We want to be happy, all the time. And happiness has no room for any suffering. Which is why happiness is folly. Trying to grab it and hold onto it is another form of seeking control.

Rohr says great love and great suffering can help us break through our unhelpful ego patterns and find wholeness. Our spiritual wholeness waits for us, just past the striving and denying. If we want to get there, we have to let suffering open us up, rather than shut us down. We have to unclench our fists and let life unfold in all its beauty and pain. All great spirituality is about letting go.

When we let go of happiness, what we receive instead is joy. Joy holds the space for both great love and great suffering. We can sit in the stands, watch our national hero with pride, and still feel the bittersweetness of it all when we lose the game. We can drop our children off at college and give ourselves permission to grieve what was and look with hope at what is to come.

But first, we have to let go.

Where can you practice letting go?

Last week, I asked you to acknowledge the suffering within you and around you. This week, what if, after you see the suffering, you look for the joy?

This post is part of my series on the Eightfold Path. This September, I’m practicing Right View. You can read all the posts on Right View here.