Thriving in Uncertainty: Inspiration Exposure Offers Relief from Grief 

Since the unprecedented pandemic of 2020, the mounting grief that people around the world have been experiencing is staggering. According to The New York Times, more than 1.2 million Americans died in the coronavirus pandemic. For the grieving families, their losses remain painful—even five years later.  

In Los Angeles, the January 2025 wildfires were devastating to so many who lost their homes, businesses, and livelihoods. The fires decimated neighborhoods and wiped out entire communities, leaving thousands homeless. Later in July 2025, the devastating floods that took many lives in Texas dominated headlines. In addition, our nation has been plagued by political divisiveness, rising healthcare costs, crime and gun violence, addiction, and climate doom (eco-anxiety), to name just a few stressors. In other parts of the globe, wars, humanitarian crises, disease outbreaks, natural disasters, poverty, and geopolitical uncertainty have been center stage. 

It’s no wonder that as of April 2025, the Centers for Disease Control reports, instances of depression in the United States have risen by 60 percent in the past 10 years. Clearly, cultivating ways to manage our pain and face adversity in new and healthy ways is vital for resilience. But how do we do that? How do we counter all the fear and hardship while remaining functional in a new age of uncertainty?

As a psychotherapist and grief counselor for the past three decades, I have often assigned a therapeutic technique I developed called inspiration exposure to my clients when they are struggling with deep emotions resulting from grief and loss, depression, and anxiety. Although this technique is not intended to be a panacea or a substitute for regular psychotherapy, the benefit as an adjunct to existing treatment is immeasurable. It offers some relief from the grief. 

Inspiration Exposure

Inspiration exposure is the practice of consciously immersing oneself in the stirring realm of artistic expression—or whatever your aesthetic is—as a coping skill. Because pain and grief are such a major part of being human, finding the beauty in our pain and thus dignifying it eases our suffering. For instance, art and nature have the power to inspire the human spirit. They help us defy the gravity of suffering that usually pulls us down into darkness. Your aesthetic can be anything that evokes positive feelings in you, like gardening, painting, cooking, writing, singing, dancing, working out, hiking, spending time in nature, or engaging in another favorite hobby. 

“Pain does not have to be the only definition we draw from a difficult time… Imagine if every misfortune, every trying time we go through, is also accompanied by gratitude and a better understanding of what’s important in our lives.”

In my book The Magic in the Tragic, I explain how inspiration exposure has a profound way of poeticizing our grief issues. By coupling our psychic pain with beauty, we appropriately lionize the pain; we transform it into something glorious, and by doing so, we greatly reduce our misery.  

Rousing art has the ability to shift our minds to experiencing our grief as “constructive aching” instead of something we fear. In that process, grief then becomes associated with curiosity, positive complexity, and personal growth. This technique truly has the ability to transform pain into empowerment. 

Throughout my life I have suffered from bouts of anxiety and intermittent depression. I discovered that when I’m particularly worried about something and my stress levels are uncharacteristically high, turning to my often-sad, go-to music positively alters my consciousness and grounds me in reality. Somehow tapping into my melancholy has an anchoring effect because it inspires a more in-the-moment feeling, which is far more tolerable than anxiously obsessing about fictional scenarios that may not ever occur. Feeling anxious makes me feel out of control, but sentimental music causes me to pause and reflect on the moment more usefully.

When I was 8 years old, I remember coming home from school one day and experiencing my first bout of depression. It crept into my young mind like an insidious infection. It scared me to the core. But because I didn’t understand it or even know what it was, over time I convinced myself that the reason I was feeling so awful was that I was a bad kid. I was somehow being punished for making mistakes, for not excelling at school, and for not obeying my parents all the time.  

Eventually, my depression turned into abject shame, and I unconsciously decided I never wanted to feel that horrible again. As a result, I established a lifelong practice of hiding my depression because my sadness became unnaturally associated with feeling inferior. 

The Arts as a Teacher

A few years later, I was introduced to the music of Czech composer Antonín Dvořák. My immigrant Greek father’s first love was his intimate and spiritual connection to classical music. One of his favorite pieces was Largo from Dvořák’s New World Symphony. After hearing it the first time, it overwhelmed me. The instant sadness came over me in the same way it did when I was 8 years old. I felt such intuitive sorrow that I didn’t want to ever hear it again.

But there was also a sublime sweetness to the melody that curiously beckoned me to open my heart to others despite the ache. It opened up a portal of inspiration that spoke to my desire for connection and to be in service of others. Suddenly my errant depression began to shift. Ultimately, my mixed feelings about Dvořák’s work turned to delight and appreciation for how exquisitely affecting it is. The largo positively altered my perception of suffering. It was my first realization of inspiration exposure.  

I also learned that soothing my unease in this way helped me to assimilate and integrate the unhappy parts of my life. And in doing so, the technique put a twist on my struggles by changing them into something stirring. Dvořák’s Largo helped me understand that whenever we hurt very deeply and wonder why our pain is so profound, it’s because we get to love so deeply too. 

The largo, commonly called Going Home, was composed in 1893 after Dvořák’s visit to the United States. Apparently, he was away from his family in Czechoslovakia for so long that he missed his homeland dearly. The longing to return home stimulated this work. Since then, Going Home has been adapted to a spiritual-like composition and used as a funeral song with a message about finding peace in the next life. 

Pain does not have to be the only definition we draw from a difficult time. There’s poignancy to tragedy as well. Imagine if every misfortune, every trying time we go through, is also accompanied by gratitude and a better understanding of what’s important in our lives. Imagine if we could learn to have as much faith in the sorrowful as we do in the joyful.

American sculptor William Wetmore Story’s classic statue, Angel of Grief Weeping Over the Dismantled Altar of Life, is another key example of how accessing our own sorrow inspires a yearning to dignify and honor grief. The result is a timeless, exquisite representation of human inspiration. 

In 1894, as a dedication to his departed wife Emelyn, Story sculpted the famous, life-size angel collapsed over a funeral altar, weeping, downcast, exhausted. Her wings wilting, her face concealed in what depicts utter inconsolability. Although the context is tragic, the statue is exquisite. It instantly induces deep reflection and reminds us that we are all vulnerable to the same magnitude of profound ache the dejected angel is feeling. We have all been there. Story said his intention was to illustrate the deep feelings that mourners are left with after a loved one passes on. He commented on the marble figure, “It represents what I feel. It represents prostration. Yet to do it helps me.” 

The next time you’re feeling despondent and you’re overwhelmed with all of life’s uncertainties, remember that it’s an opportunity to develop yourself into someone who can transform pain into thriving. Giving yourself uplifting chills as often as possible is your superpower. Perhaps exposure to enduring pieces of art, like Story’s classic statue and Dvořák’s Largo, have saved lives. So find your aesthetic, find your inspiration, and expose yourself to it. It may save your life too.

Inspiration Exposure Exercise

To practice inspiration exposure, take a quick inventory of what moves you. Start by writing down the following: 

• a favorite song (any genre) 
   

• a favorite piece of art (painting, sculpture, or anything creative) 
   

• a favorite quote 
   

• a favorite movie 
   

• a favorite place in nature (for example, a lake where you spent summers, a beach you vacationed at, a special camping spot in the woods, a favorite hiking trail 

For each example, ask yourself the following, being as specific as possible: 

• Why do the tones or lyrics of this song touch me so deeply? 
   

• Why does this piece of art inspire me so much? 
   

• What is so meaningful about this quote I chose? 
   

• What themes (or memories) in this movie stir my heart so deeply? 
   

• What is the feeling this favorite place in nature evokes in me? 
   
   

Keep these answers handy, either written down on paper or saved on your smartphone or computer. Amid your daily dramas and conflicts, your passing griefs and uproars, take a few minutes to check in with them, reconnect with them, and allow them to move you. This practice will help remind you that whatever struggles you’re grappling with in the moment, there are beautiful and sorrowful things that can give you strength. Over time, the exercise will align you with the indispensable benefit of appreciating the dignity in suffering. 

This article appeared in the January/February 2026 issue of Spirituality & Health^®: A Unity Publication. Subscribe now.