Conversational Growth

I had the pleasure of making conversation with a stranger a few nights ago. There is an art to making conversation, and when two people come together, sometimes this collaboration yields beautiful results. This time, it did. I left the conversation feeling exhausted as usual, invigorated, and incredibly vulnerable. 

I'm used to spiritual revitalization from mutually supporting my Buddhist community members. I rely on my parents and friends (more heavily than parentals) for emotional revitalization. But it was a strange sensation to feel anything other than drained from interacting with a potential partner. That probably says more about my tendency toward the role of emotional caretaker in romantic relationships than I'd prefer, but I digress.

Initially, I was surprised that I felt vulnerable afterwards, intellectually and emotionally. It's been a very long time since I've felt like that. In the moment, I decided to trust him, even if on a very small scale like telling deeply personal stories of my past. As I digested the reasons why I felt so exposed, I saw that time has taught me to be logical and force partners to access my heart at a slower pace than my heart wants to be accessed. Is that a symptom of being too trusting in my youth and subsequently burned by my partners? Or is it a part of my red-hot heart slowly cooling as I amass wisdom and spend more time in this world?

Because I recognized this trust-aversion at all and because of my residual feelings of emotional defenselessness, I see that I do still have the capacity to trust partners. That's wonderful! In the last six months--when I determined to take a furlough from dating--I wondered if that ["trusting"] muscle was shriveled up and slowly dying… If I can in fact exert that muscle, would it be an act of naivety or faith? I guess that depends on perspective…

Grad school skate - day 13

Took a pretty harsh fall today on my right side. I was wearing sleeves so my skin is less damaged than the last fall. My hip will probably have a massive bruise come tomorrow afternoon... Lastly, my nose got bruised from my sunglasses hitting my helmet, which hit the pavement. Ouch. It also seems I somehow busted my ankle last week, so peddling and breaking was painful today. Double ouch.

As I was trying to keep practicing while my elbow burned, hip throbbed, and ankle made me wince, I contemplated the reasons why I subject myself to so much physical pain? Am I a masochist deep down? Is skating worth it? 

The more I skated on, the more I understood that I genuinely enjoy skateboarding. It's something I've always appreciated. Now it's finally my turn to skate through the pain, get over my scrapes and bruises, and fulfill a wish from my younger days.

Grad school skate - day 05

I feel like I finally got to something close to cruising. It felt wonderful to have my body and board meld into one, one vessel to hold my mind and soul. The process of cruising, the adventure of riding is calming yet chalk full of unadulterated fun.

I've never really done anything simply for me and my own enjoyment. But this feels like something that is 100% mine and no one else has a say as to what or how I do my thing ("thang"). That feels wonderful. 

Even if I keep skating on the same surfaces--which to date have bored me after I ride them back and forth for a few hours--I want to achieve something close to that mental state again. 

Now, what do I want to call my board? Hm...

Big takeaways: I enjoy skating!

Grad School Skate - Rationale

I've never been one to follow the crowd, or be just another sheep in the heard. But does this explain why I wanted to finally learn how to skateboard at the age of 24? Partially.

I grew up with skaters around me, all of whom were men / boys. I always liked what skateboarding represented - counter culture, self expression, making a playground out of the urban landscape around us, and constantly pushing yourself to be bigger and better.

Maybe I didn't think I was coordinated enough (I wasn't). Maybe I was intimidated because there was one girl skater for every 5-10 boys at the skate park (I also didn't have very much self-confidence back then).

Maybe it was just street skating that was never really my thing. To me, street skating was less about getting around and more about doing tricks and getting hurt. It has always seemed too masculine for my taste and I have never been one to identify with overtly masculine activities.

Cruising on the other hand...

The Story of Only Children and Walls

I am an only child born to older parents, my birth circa their early 40's--it's a miracle my mother survived the ordeal considering her petite stature and my fetal weight. Most of my time spent with peers was in school, at church, or at the park. Regardless, I spent countless hours playing and entertaining myself in my room, alone, with my toys to the extent that my stuffed animals became my friends, and protected me from vampires when the lights were turned off. But that is inconsequential.

If you've ever lived alone, you might find yourself having conversations in your head, often saying the same things many times over, or recalling the same memories or people until you find something else distracting--like sitting in front of a wall. The only response to your call into the abyss of human absence is silence. Consequently, you start to intuitively know yourself very well and become comfortable with me, myself, and I.

Topics that would normally suggest, yield or require discussion become monologues. It is very easy to become close minded and trapped in the room that is your isolation. It isn't that a person in this room keeps everyone else on the other side of the only door in, it is more that no other human is sitting on the carpet with you, sipping tea, as a matter-of-fact.

There are a lot of stereotypes about only children. But I have found that their independence means being unafraid to be alone. For some people, the absence of a loved one (or potentially another person in general) feels like a piece of your world is missing. For me, my world was never missing a piece to begin with, it was simply fuller when others were around. It is easier to cope with absence when solitude is something you have known your entire life.

This blog is a dialogue presented in monologue. A dialogue about an only child, young Buddhist woman traversing American life while not compromising her many identities. Sometimes I wonder how I'm doing...

Redecorating Therapy

The bandaid:

I've redecorated. Currently, I occupy the living room of a one bedroom apartment--it's all I can afford on my under employed salary... I decided a physical change was required. So, I grabbed a friend, hopped in the car, bought an espresso americano and drove. For the sake of ambiguity, I'm going to omit the before photo and present the after:

Only the room divider, duvet cover, 1 cushion, and bed frame are new (this is the scaled back project version, believe it or not...). The bookshelf, TV stand, desk (executive!) and mattress are old. What I wanted was a definitive separation between my space and the common space, work and recreation, relaxation and stress--thus the wall simulating and barrier producing furniture. This was my birthday gift to myself. Respite in times of turbulence such as now.

The wound:

I am standing in a doorway leading to a yard full of green grass. Along the tall outer fence are closed gates. Any minute now, I'm supposed to push open any one of those countless doors and enter a new grassy yard, a new house, a new chapter of my life. And yet, I'm still standing in the doorway, staring out at my options--my future. It seems impossible to chose, impossible to wrap my head around the possibilities, impossible to will my cerebral membrane to produce any thoughts at all. My body is frozen in time.

December 1 is my first deadline for graduate school applications. Over the past month or so, my conscious and subconscious alike have been frantically trying to avoid making any relevant decisions, or even researching alternative programs for my further education. So much so that my partner has caught onto my scheme and isn't putting up with my bullsh*t anymore. Good for him. Next, he needs to teach me the ancient and elusive art of get 'er done. 

To date, my pursuits of graduate program research, selection, and overall future academic self discovery has been stopped and stalled by hopelessness, depression, exhaustion, fear, stress, distraction, and old fashion ornery attitude. It's time I hang up my listless jacket and put on my thinking cap. I'm applying to graduate school!!

Middle Way

Definition of eight winds:

Eight conditions that prevent people from advancing along the right path to enlightenment. According to The Treatise on the Stage of Buddhahood Sutra--Bandhuprabha's work that was translated into Chinese by Hsüan-tsang--the eight winds are prosperity, decline, disgrace, honor, praise, censure, suffering, and pleasure. People are often swayed either by their attachment to prosperity, honor, praise, and pleasure (collectively known as "four favorites" or "four favorable winds"), or by their aversion to decline, disgrace, censure, and suffering ("four dislikes" or "four adverse winds"). (The Soka Gakkai Dictionary of Buddhism 八風 definition)

For most of my young adult life, I have been using this as a guide to keeping calm almost. To me, being calm doesn't mean keeping myself from expressing excitement, joy, or agitation at all. It is more be able to keep my negative emotions under wraps and only expressing the uplifting, endorphin promoting emotions. But that isn't to say I'm necessarily a positive person, because many things I say, think, and feel are in fact pessimistic in nature. 

This concept has also been instrumental in reminding myself not to sweat the small things, something that can be difficult because I'm a perfectionist by nature, and slightly obsessive compulsive. If someone doesn't like my work, that's ok, I can fix it. If I don't get a call back for that interesting job opening, that's quite alright too, everything happens for a reason. If anything, this idea lets me be more relaxed about my life while still focused on my goals and not beat myself up every chance I get. This idea is so important to me, that I inked it on myself.

The Rose Petals of Human Life

Culture and art are like the petals of roses blooming on thorny bushes. Real life has its thorns, but good deeds and compassion make the human being beautiful. Instead of being created by the turbulent surface waves of political and economic affairs, history is the slow, profound ocean current where culture, art, and education play leading roles.

July 2012 Living Buddhism, pp. 43

Mr. 91

I almost don't want to admit it, but I've joined the masses and started online dating. My profile is almost 1000 words long, I have multiple photos posted with various backdrops, outfits, faces, and sides of myself on display. Just like any other user, my likes, abilities, and mentioned experiences are exaggerated and downplayed alike---for the record, smashing your entire being into a 1000 word auto-character reference is sweat breaking work! And once it is finished, you have to tweak and pull and mold your online self into a shape that will bait the fish you are trying to snag; because yes, there are many fish in the sea, but no, I don't want to catch a barracuda.

Since entering the realm of singledom, I have resigned myself to initiating contact as frequently as possible. If a guy meets 95% of my own requirements and criteria, off I go typing an attention grabbing message, in hope he will recognize the potential I see in the both of us.

A few weeks ago, after a several weeks of playing word tag, I was scheduled to meet a whopping 91% love match. Using complex algorithms, drawing sweeping personality conclusions from answers to vague questions, and analyzing 5-point scale ratings I gave to potential mates, this man was deemed 91% compatible to me. 91%. That is 9 points shy of a full 100%! Leading up to this date, I thought to myself, "considering the intellectual, news fanatical banter we've exchanged already, we are probably going to hit it off, aren't we? And he's a 91% match! He must be my soul mate!" Pfft. Nice try, naive little girl. I sat in the coffee shop, sipping my tea, anxiously awaiting my prince's arrival when he suddenly walked in, looking calm, cool, collected, confident. He was even wearing corduroy. (WTF!?) As conversation flowed, easily I will add, our date progressed smoothly. Ending with us sitting in his car, digesting our Ramiro's Bros burritos, and talking quietly about the Vagina Monologues.

Then it happened, our fingers interlaced, we looked into each other's longing eyes, leaned in, and kissed one another. He had soft, pink lips, was a good kisser, I found nothing really to complain about except the giant white elephant that started sucking all of the air out of the tiny subcompact. It felt like I was kissing my male doppelganger: me-with-a-penis 2.0. There was absolutely no chemistry and none that could be scrounged up and pooled toward any sort of minuscule investment... believe me, I was searching thoroughly...

Turns out, my expectations were oh too high for a semi-blind date. How can you walk into a situation where you are expecting yourself and the other party to fit into one another like the missing piece of your last, great table puzzle? It is destined to fail! Maybe I'm just jaded. Or maybe I'm becoming less idealistic. Either way, you can't plan love, it just happens. Even in the most fertile of soils and the most meticulously chosen seed, a plant can fail to take root. My moral lesson, having an open mind, an open heart, and open eyes will lead me in the direction I need to go. Since Mr. 91, I've been on several first dates and not forcing myself to bend over backwards to make my subconscious happy has been a huge blessing and tension reliever.

Thoughts on....

Sobriety:
35 days sober to date.
I enjoy the newly achieved mental clarity. Being able to designated drive [automatic transmission only, please] at a moment's notice is reassuring. My wallet enjoys the $40 of extra padding every Monday morning.
Alcohol:
Alcohol is a toxin, a poison that I pump into my body in order to enjoy the sensations it brings to my body and mind. Those sensations do not support my growth or development. Nor do they help me cope with my sufferings and fears. Alcohol is a wet blank I use to drape over my dusty old furniture in hopes of transforming the object into something smaller, more managable. Conspicuous camoflage.
I really do enjoy the substance itself, vodka tastes very nice, Hefeveissen Beers are smooth on my pallet, citrusy cocktails are my favorite. One sip every once in a long while is all I have allowed myself and it seems that is enough. I have taken such a strong liking to abstinence (the sexual sort involuntarily) that my taste buds don't miss drinking two beers with dinner, or four cocktails and a beer on Saturday. One mouthful is enough, just so i can remember the initial warm tingle, preceeding full flavor, burning sensations as the cool liquid reaches the corners of my mouth and flows down my throat. After those rosey, fuzzy pink images and muscle memories flood my brain, the ugly, dark, throbbing hangovers, nights spent over a toilet and drunken regerets following shortly thereafter and remind me with viceral stomach churns why I chose this path.
Alcohol is not my friend, at least not right now, it isn't.

Guilt: Past, Present, Future

Olvidar mis errores del pasado y obtener logros en el futuro.

I used to think of experiences from days and years before as a summation of who I am and was at that point in time, that is true as a gage of who I have been but is not applicable to who I am today or who I will be.

I know instinctively that I can be better than what or who I was before, especially when it comes to the pain I inflicted on myself and the loved ones around me.

Its terribly difficult for me to forget. I can sometimes see the effects of my damage in the present and wish from the bottom of my heart that I can take it back or make up for it, in any way that would alleviate the pain I see. This guilt is most prevalent when I am presented with a tiny object or idea that is tied to a specific loved one or more directly, mentally tied to some negative action.

Apologies alone will never be enough but the future self that has yet been formed is the only mode of redemption. Never again will I fall victim to the whims of my fleeting impulses or allow myself to be dragged down and defeated by trivial environmental elements. If my past has done anything positive for me, its purpose has been to strengthen through survival; while never losing sights of my dreams.

When I'm presented with a chance to step forward, tangibly move toward a fuller self, or fall back into regret, I hope my guilt will ignite the courage I need to change rather than excuse my subsequent tail spin. Until then, I am continually fighting to choose the nobler path. Only time can really tell if I'm anywhere near successful.

2010 in Retrospect and Appreciation

2010 has been a tumultuous and excited year for this little blogger. Among the many things I was able to accomplish and am grateful, I appreciate the opportunity to study abroad, a major life goal achieved. Japan was a learning process: personality quirks and traits were revealed, my understanding of my surrounding environment broadened a little, more cultural awareness and communication improved! I successfully navigated my first traumatic event, tragic heartbreak, and subsequent depression, with psychiatric help. I helped shakubuku an "at-risk youth," and finished my first ever million daimoku chart!

Again, as at the end of every semester I have experienced to date, it has become clear to me just how much the people around me support and care for me. To those whom I speak to or see daily, I thank them. To those whom I am physically separated, my love and support has not wavered, I wish and pray for their happiness and success all the same.

I don't regret anything that I did, happened to me, or happened around me this past year. Nor do I regret the interactions I had with the people in my life this year, perhaps to some one's dismay.

My only hope for 2011 is that my existence alone can inspire pleasant and motivating feelings in those around me. Hopefully everything will go well for more people in 2011 than the amount of people who didn't have things in their favor in 2010.

"We were born to struggle and challenge ourselves. We were born to progress in our lives and to win. This is the meaning of a life dedicated to happiness and peace. The purpose of life is being victorious. And the key to victory is chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo." Josei Toda

Unappreciation

Unappreciation: un·ap·pre·ci·a·tion, noun, \ˌən-ə-ˌprē-shē-ˈā-shən\ 
1. failure to appreciate something
2. ungratefully: in an ungrateful manner



Many, many times I have walked into a museum and considered this sculpture or that painting beautiful. I can also appreciate the beauty I find in Jake Gyllenhaal's face and body and thus patronize his movies more often than say, Clint Eastwood. Perhaps the reader has had a similar experience of finding value in some trait or characteristic of a person or object.


Now, I have found it difficult to find value in myself as easily as I find it in others. If we can't appreciate ourselves, how can we ever appreciate someone else or expect someone else to appreciate us as individuals? We all have our individual strengths and weaknesses, beauty and ugliness. 


If I find my especially good characteristics and emphasize them, then perhaps someone else will notice, enjoy and appreciate them as well.

Honesty

There comes a point in a young person's life where he must accept everything that happened to him. I've reached that point. It's time I understand the experiences I've had and decide what I'm going to take forward with me, at least in the immediate future. Soon, this won't just be in a physical possessions and memory evidence sense.

Those things are rather fleeting, but the things that stay with us, at least stay with me, are the decisions I've made, the things I've done to the people around me and the experiences I chose or fell into in the course of events that compose my life.

It's easy to put something, some memory, some idea in the back of my mind and hope it stays there. Eventually, that pile of crap I stored in the far corner of the attic need to be sifted through. When I open that dusty box, the contents are just shadows of the original. It takes time to digest and understand what it is I'm holding in my hand: "is it a shirt? or a banner? Oh, wait, what did I use this for again?" It's all very familiar but ephemeral, dream-like, intangible.

Recently, I opened one of those boxes dirty and taped up boxes. It didn't make sense to me what I was looking at. Literally, I saw a dark cloud that was threatening to rain inside the box. Slowly, I pulled apart the layers and could see the mangled truth.

It feels good to put that irritant into a box, push it to the back of the pile and face the other side of the room. But eventually, it needs to be opened. There's no other option. The longer we wait, the more we put off rediscovering the contents, the bigger the box gets, the more mold it builds, the more brutal and dangerous the storm becomes. Have that storm knock down bushes, not telephone poles.

A Series of Choices

I am almost certain that the following revelation has been discovered and understood time and time again but I will say it anyway. Everything in existence is a series of yes or no questions.

First, the question of existence, does X exist, or not? Second, depending on the nature of the item in question, could be along the lines of does it have matter or do I, as a human, have the ability to recognize it? Contemplate this a while.

Once you get passed the existentialism, you get to questions more related to ability and function. For example, can a human eat a chicken? Can I walk 500 miles?

Once what can and cannot be done has been determined and completely explored, the questions become a matter of choosing to commit an action or not. Every single particle in the universe can participate and be examined using these yes/no questions until the question of choices arise. At that point, in my opinion, only animate beings can participate and at varying degrees depending on various elements such as instincts. But humans, when faced with a problem or dilemma often throw in questions of morality or righteousness before inquiring about willingness.

Either way, almost anything can be “figured out” with yes/no questions. But when grappling with those difficult decisions, a choice is always made, yes, or no. As humans, I think we all try to consistently pick the best one, even if it seems like a bad one.