In 1922, while an unpublished, struggling writer named Ernest Hemingway was covering events in Switzerland, his wife Hadley came from Paris to see him. Assuming he would want them, she packed up the writings Hemingway had accumulated in their apartment–manuscripts, short stories, poetry, and an unfinished novel, it was his life’s work. Hemingway had made some important literary contacts on his trip and she was sure he’d want to show off his work.

As she waited during a stop over at the Gare de Lyon train station, Hadley stepped out for a drink and a newspaper, only to find on her return, that the bag containing all of Hemingway’s manuscripts had been stolen. It was an enormous, nearly unbearable loss. Years of work disappeared in an instant, impossible to recover.

Of course, you know the end of Hemingway’s story and can probably guess how this ‘obstacle’ contributed to it. Hemingway would go on to be one of the greatest writers of his generation. The loss of his back catalog forced him to start fresh, partly driving him to re-invent his literary style. “The impediment to action advances action,” Marcus Aurelius wrote, “What stands in the way becomes the way.” It was precisely that.

But…you know…not immediately. Hemingway wrote a letter shortly after the incident to Ezra Pound. “I suppose you heard about the loss of my Juvenilia?” Hemingway said. “You, naturally, would say, ‘Good’ etc. But don’t say it to me. I ain’t yet reached that mood. I worked 3 years on the damn stuff.”

It’s a certifiable fact that most of what we despair over and resist, turns out to be good for us. We change because of it, respond to it. That’s what Stoicism is about. Still, that doesn’t change the heartbreak. It doesn’t change the moment.

It takes time. We have to be patient with ourselves, with others in similar situations. Let our mood come around, let our perspective shift, let more information come in. We also have to make it good, as Hemingway did…and that took time and effort and lots and lost of writing.

So it goes for you.