The Gift We Never Asked For
I was scrolling through social media, as one does, when I came across a video of Anderson Cooper interviewing Stephen Colbert. I clicked because the clip opened with Cooper struggling to get through a question—his voice cracked as emotion welled up. Anytime I see adult men show that kind of vulnerability, I stop and watch. I can’t look away. It feels like something sacred, something we don’t see enough, and something that needs to be witnessed.
The question he asked was this:
“You told an interviewer that you have learned to, in your words, 'Love the thing that I most wish had not happened.' I remember [EMOTION IN VOICE] You went on to say, 'What punishments of God are not gifts?' Do you really believe that?”
Colbert’s answer is one of the most honest, human things I’ve heard about grief:
“Yes, It's a gift to exist. It's a gift to exist, and with existence comes suffering. There's no escaping that. And I guess I'm either a Catholic or a Buddhist when I say those things, because I've heard those from both traditions. But, I didn't learn it, that I was grateful for the thing I most wish hadn't happened, is that I realized it. Is that— And it's an oddly guilty feeling— I don't want it to have happened. I want it to not have happened. But, if you are grateful for your life, which I think is a positive thing to do, not everybody is, and I'm not always, but it's the most positive thing to do, then you have to be grateful for all of it. You can't pick and choose what you're grateful for. And, then, so what do you get from loss? You get awareness of other people's loss.”
Watch the video clip here (scroll to 2:53 for the specific exchange I’m referencing) :
That idea stopped me in my tracks:
To be grateful for life means being grateful for all of it.
Not just the victories, but the heartbreak. Not just the healing, but the wounds.
When I think about gratitude, I think about the version I was taught: “Be thankful for what you have,” “Look on the bright side,” “It could be worse.” But this is something else entirely. This isn’t about sugarcoating or silver linings. This is about recognizing that the dark parts are stitched into the light. That the mess is part of the meaning.
A Personal Reflection
Watching that moment between Anderson and Colbert stirred something in me—not just as a professional, but as a person. Seeing two grown men talk openly about grief made me feel safer. It reminded me that it’s possible to show emotion and still be strong. It also reminded me how rare that feels.
I don’t have many spaces in my life where I can show up with that level of vulnerability. I wish I did. There’s a grief in that, too—the grief of emotional isolation that so many men carry silently.
A Professional Reflection
In my work, I often talk with clients about gratitude for the body. But not in the way it’s usually sold. Not as “love your flaws!” or “find the silver lining in your stretch marks!” No. I mean the kind of gratitude that holds the whole truth.
To be grateful for your body might mean being grateful for the parts that hurt. For the way it protected you during trauma. For how it carries the memory of survival. For how it’s still showing up, even when you don’t like the way it looks. That kind of gratitude—the gritty, honest kind—is hard-earned. But it’s real. And it’s healing.
Finding peace in our body is not contingent on us loving it. Learning to accept our body for how it is today means accepting the parts we don’t love as much as the ones we do.
A Masculine Perspective
This moment between Cooper and Colbert also made me think about masculinity. About how we train boys and men to feel shame for being sensitive. To push away tears. To offer solutions instead of presence.
And yet—there they were. Two men, one asking a trembling question, the other offering a deeply spiritual answer. It didn’t feel soft or performative. It felt strong. The kind of strength that comes from knowing yourself, from letting the grief be part of the story instead of pretending it didn’t happen.
We need more of that in the world. More men modeling emotional fluency. More space for men to grieve without fixing it, to feel without filtering it. And we need to see that this kind of emotional openness isn’t weakness—it’s connection.
The Empathy Thread
Colbert ends that quote by saying:
“So what do you get from loss? You get awareness of other people’s loss.”
That line has stayed with me. Because if grief does anything well, it cracks us open. It softens the walls we build. It reminds us that everyone is carrying something invisible. And when we let that soften us—when we stop pretending we’re fine all the time—what we find is empathy.
Empathy doesn’t come from having the right words. It comes from having felt it yourself. It’s what allows us to sit with someone else’s pain and not need to fix it. It’s what makes space for real connection. And maybe—just maybe—that’s the gift inside the thing we never asked for.
Empathy for each other, particularly in relation to our physical bodies, is rare to find. And when we do, I think it’s a powerful moment that helps us move forward, find more healing, find more peace and acceptance.
I’d love to hear from you
What’s something in your life that you wish hadn’t happened… but also shaped you into who you are? If we embrace this idea of gratitude towards our body, what comes up for you?
Deep Cuts
If you want to dive deeper into Anderson Cooper and Stephen Colbert’s continuing conversation on grief, check out this podcast episode.
I think what you say about boys and men being punished for being overly sensitive and expressing their emotions is an important insight. It causes loneliness because a boy learns that he’s not allowed to behave in ways that reflect how he feels. His true feelings are not acceptable to others. That worries me because the disconnection is an impediment to learning through reflection and self-governing as a boy grows. Expecting blind obedience to strictures like “Boys never cry” cripples the development of empathy.
No wonder men dissociate from their own emotions and by their teen years hate any discussion of feelings.
It’s like binding a boys heart so it doesn’t grow fully and freely then blaming him for it as a man.🌹
Emotional fluency…….now that is strength and vulnerability. This is such a great read! When we are able to be open and vulnerable, well that just comes from a place of strength, from knowing ourselves, and from being able to share openly with trusted sources. And this provides healing. We need more safe places to be in community, to share and to just be heard. And to know that as broken individuals, we are fine, just the way we are.