Recently my coach challenged me to write a blog post from the point of view of my higher self telling the self-that-walks-around-in-daily-life what I should keep in mind before I start my journey. (My "higher self" is the most compassionate, loving, authentic version of myself. For those of you familiar with the His Dark Materials trilogy, I think of my higher self as my daemon).
So here we go:
Dearest Iimay,
It is okay to not know for sure where this journey will lead you, and to live your way to the answers. I know part of the reason why you are going is because you remember your uncle and aunts and cousins in Taiwan, their unconditional love and care for you, and the home they made for you. They are a shelter, but they do not know you for all that you are. Remember that though their love will be genuine and nourishing, it will not fill the holes in you created by the family you were born into. Enjoy your relatives for who they are; do not wish them to be anything else.
Remember that it's okay to not have everything planned or under control. You have done all you can to prepare, and you will forget and lose things, pay more than you wanted, miss buses and trains, and run late, and the things you hoped would be incredible will let you down. But that's okay. Travel and adventure is not about smooth logistics; you are not responsible for ensuring someone else's good time. This is your time to be spontaneous, figure it out as you go along, and be open to whatever happens. Let go.
Trust your friend. This a journey of a lifetime, and you have the great fortune of spending it with someone who loves you dearly. He will take care of you, keep you company, get you into mishaps and wild adventures, get you out of trouble, listen, laugh, and share with you. When you are tired, hot, cranky, or hungry, remember that you are not alone, that whatever happens, the most important thing is that you are experiencing it together.
Be mindful of your feelings. If you are sad, do not push it away because you're "supposed to" be feeling something else. Your journey will be thrilling, wonderful, happy, and fulfilling, but also frustrating, lonely, scary, and exhausting. Let yourself experience your whole range of emotions; there is no wrong way to feel.
It's okay to miss your friends, partner, and family back home, but do not spend your short time away wishing you could be back. I know you are afraid that things will change without you, that if you are not as present as you have been in your close relationships that people will go away. But those who love you are not going anywhere. They are keeping you in their thoughts and wishing you well. They want you to have a full of an experience as possible, and you cannot do that unless you are present. Do not dwell in worry and anxiety about their well-being or in feelings of guilt about how you aren't contacting them enough. They will be there for you when you return, no matter what.
Don't put pressure on yourself to accomplish things, to tear through your itinerary like a to-do list, to measure your trip by tours and temples and sites. Your trip is not a problem to be solved. Let yourself say no, change plans, change your mind, miss seeing the "must-sees." Let yourself sleep in, rest, and take it slow.
Listen to yourself. Keep up your practice. Breathe. Stay in your body. Be at peace with uncertainty. Remember the clear, calm, and vivid sky between clouds of anxiety and doubt. Eat everything, take risks, be silly and kind and loving.
Everything will be all right.
I love you.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Saturday, December 25, 2010
a radical conversation with my mom
Yesterday my mom and I went to run errands/go shopping, which we have been doing every day since I arrived in NC on Monday. Though I was reluctant and grudging because I wanted to have a quiet morning on my own terms, my mom is a force of nature and before I knew it I found myself braving the Xmas crowd at Trader Joe's.
We stopped at a local NY bagel and deli place before heading over to Harris Teeter, and I was happily digging into my bagel with bacon, egg, and cheese when my mom decided to suddenly talk to me about my sexuality. Mom doesn't tend to preface her thoughts or questions; most of the time she is operating in entirely her own semi-manic world and jumps from subject to subject, zigzagging and doubling back wildly. Her narrative arcs never go in a straight line, but I'm used to it.
Mom mentioned that my dad was doing better about me coming out. I came out to him about a week before Thanksgiving, and although he was stunned, he was also supportive and said my happiness was the most important thing. But I knew had also been struggling. I asked my mom if she had talked to him recently, and this unleashed a very long and intense conversation that I was not anticipating having in the middle of a small and crowded deli, but ended up being vitally important to practicing self-love and being my authentic self.
Since I don't really remember the exact flow of the conversation (and even if I did, it still wouldn't make sense because of what I said about my mom earlier), I'd like to distill it to the following points:
-Much of my struggle with my feelings of worthlessness come from childhood and my family dynamics. Though I love and respect my parents deeply, and know that they love me deeply in return, they have never been good about talking about feelings, doing emotion work, or giving praise. They follow the Chinese cultural code of "if I didn't say you screwed up, then you're doing fine." So most of the feedback I got from my parents growing up came in the form of criticism. Though I have gotten older and cope better with this now, there's still one thing about me that has been relentlessly critiqued and I have not been able to escape:
-My clothes. They have never been "right" and therefore I never felt like my body, or myself was "right" in their minds. Always too short, too small, too long, too tight, too sloppy, wrinkled, or messy. I've had many ugly fights with my parents about my clothes throughout my life, especially after my adolescence when I stopped wearing traditionally feminine clothes. I started dressing in a more masculine fashion because the clothes felt more comfortable, fit better, fit the "lesbian image" better, and because I thought the more conservative masculine cuts would mean I'd finally stopped being critiqued by my parents. Clothing has become so contentious and anxiety-inducing for me that I pick a specific wardrobe for when I go to my parents' home so that I can avoid confrontation about it. Inevitably they still find fault with something.
At the NY bagel store, my mom decided to nitpick me about an outfit that I thought was perfectly fine, and all the years of frustration, sadness, and anger about my parents' attitudes towards my clothes boiled out. I told them that no one had ever asked me to changed the way I dress, none of my bosses, professors, teachers, or trusted friends, and that I thought the way I dressed was perfectly fine. I told her it was her own bias and not actual reality that made her think there was something wrong with me. I told her that I had never seen her or my dad police my brothers' clothes in the same way that they had always policed mine. That her criticizing my clothes was infantalizing. That I didn't know what she wanted for me and it wasn't fair for her to keep telling me what was wrong without clearly saying what she wanted or expected.
By this point I had teared up and was visibly upset, and my mom looked at me, taken aback. She said, "Oh. I see. You just want to accept you the way you are."
She has never said anything like this before, and I was both stunned and thrilled. "Yes!" I said. "And I'm pretty awesome!"
She laughed and said she knew I was, but that was not the end of the conversation.
-The second thing she revealed was that when she was talking to my dad soon after my coming out, he actually teared up because he was so upset. I have only seen my dad cry once in my life. My mom actually started tearing up when she started talking about it, which made me realize just how raw the moment must have been for her too. She said that he was upset about how I am his daughter and his little girl, but how did I turn out looking and being so much like him? Why am I like one of his sons? And that's when it really sunk in that for my parents being gay or lesbian = wanting to be the "opposite gender". What is hardest for them to accept isn't that I am attracted to women or am in a relationship with a woman, but that I have a masculine gender presentation, that I am not a "traditional" woman or daughter.
-Eventually, she connected her preconceptions and beliefs about gender to her feelings around my clothes. She admitted that she did not nag my brothers about the way they dress and has always been more critical of me. Mom realized that this whole time it wasn't that the clothes I was wearing were actually sloppy, poor quality, or ill-fitting, but that I was wearing clothes that she didn't think her daughter should wear, that I dressed more like a man. And it wasn't that the clothes weren't fitting, it was that I wasn't fitting her gendered expectations. She even talked about how if I were her son she'd think I was very handsome and good-looking.
-Another thing I told her was to let go of her worries that my sexual orientation is a cause of suffering, pain, and hurt in my life. I told her that it has been a positive part of my identity, that I have a community, friends, and partner because of it, and that it has never prevented me from getting work or living the life I imagined. In fact my life has been enriched by my queer identity.
We ended the conversation in a good place, thanking each other for being honest. She said that she is relieved that she didn't have to worry about me so much anymore. I told her to not worry about things that don't reflect reality (hmm, seems like this is a family habit)
Thinking about our conversation now, there is so much to process, but also so much to be grateful for:
-Being able to speak honestly with my mother and together get to the truth behind matters. I now know for sure that it's not that my parents don't like the way I look or think that I'm tasteless, but that they have been adjusting to me and my way of being in the world. And sometimes that is hard, but at least now we are talking about the same thing and know it is about gender.
-That I am able to hold onto a strong and positive sense of self in the face of someone who has the ability to pierce it and make me feel small (however unintentional it may be). I was able to draw hard boundaries in terms of what I will not accept from my mom in how she treats me, and told her firmly that I was not going to change the way I dress and move in the world.
-That I could get her to realize that all I want is for her to accept me the way I am, and that the way I am is more than enough.
These affirmations are mixed in with the sadness of the realization that my father sees me being like him as a problem, but I know too that he is making his own journey. He is grieving the daughter he imagined but never had. His most respectful and filial child, the one most invested in having a strong relationship with him and his wife, is not one of his sons. I think that time, conversations with my mom, and adjusting to the complicated but full and vivid reality of who I am will help him find peace.
This conversation showed me that I know who I am and that speaking from a place of wholeness and truth is an act of kindness and self-love. And it feels pretty damn good!
We stopped at a local NY bagel and deli place before heading over to Harris Teeter, and I was happily digging into my bagel with bacon, egg, and cheese when my mom decided to suddenly talk to me about my sexuality. Mom doesn't tend to preface her thoughts or questions; most of the time she is operating in entirely her own semi-manic world and jumps from subject to subject, zigzagging and doubling back wildly. Her narrative arcs never go in a straight line, but I'm used to it.
Mom mentioned that my dad was doing better about me coming out. I came out to him about a week before Thanksgiving, and although he was stunned, he was also supportive and said my happiness was the most important thing. But I knew had also been struggling. I asked my mom if she had talked to him recently, and this unleashed a very long and intense conversation that I was not anticipating having in the middle of a small and crowded deli, but ended up being vitally important to practicing self-love and being my authentic self.
Since I don't really remember the exact flow of the conversation (and even if I did, it still wouldn't make sense because of what I said about my mom earlier), I'd like to distill it to the following points:
-Much of my struggle with my feelings of worthlessness come from childhood and my family dynamics. Though I love and respect my parents deeply, and know that they love me deeply in return, they have never been good about talking about feelings, doing emotion work, or giving praise. They follow the Chinese cultural code of "if I didn't say you screwed up, then you're doing fine." So most of the feedback I got from my parents growing up came in the form of criticism. Though I have gotten older and cope better with this now, there's still one thing about me that has been relentlessly critiqued and I have not been able to escape:
-My clothes. They have never been "right" and therefore I never felt like my body, or myself was "right" in their minds. Always too short, too small, too long, too tight, too sloppy, wrinkled, or messy. I've had many ugly fights with my parents about my clothes throughout my life, especially after my adolescence when I stopped wearing traditionally feminine clothes. I started dressing in a more masculine fashion because the clothes felt more comfortable, fit better, fit the "lesbian image" better, and because I thought the more conservative masculine cuts would mean I'd finally stopped being critiqued by my parents. Clothing has become so contentious and anxiety-inducing for me that I pick a specific wardrobe for when I go to my parents' home so that I can avoid confrontation about it. Inevitably they still find fault with something.
At the NY bagel store, my mom decided to nitpick me about an outfit that I thought was perfectly fine, and all the years of frustration, sadness, and anger about my parents' attitudes towards my clothes boiled out. I told them that no one had ever asked me to changed the way I dress, none of my bosses, professors, teachers, or trusted friends, and that I thought the way I dressed was perfectly fine. I told her it was her own bias and not actual reality that made her think there was something wrong with me. I told her that I had never seen her or my dad police my brothers' clothes in the same way that they had always policed mine. That her criticizing my clothes was infantalizing. That I didn't know what she wanted for me and it wasn't fair for her to keep telling me what was wrong without clearly saying what she wanted or expected.
By this point I had teared up and was visibly upset, and my mom looked at me, taken aback. She said, "Oh. I see. You just want to accept you the way you are."
She has never said anything like this before, and I was both stunned and thrilled. "Yes!" I said. "And I'm pretty awesome!"
She laughed and said she knew I was, but that was not the end of the conversation.
-The second thing she revealed was that when she was talking to my dad soon after my coming out, he actually teared up because he was so upset. I have only seen my dad cry once in my life. My mom actually started tearing up when she started talking about it, which made me realize just how raw the moment must have been for her too. She said that he was upset about how I am his daughter and his little girl, but how did I turn out looking and being so much like him? Why am I like one of his sons? And that's when it really sunk in that for my parents being gay or lesbian = wanting to be the "opposite gender". What is hardest for them to accept isn't that I am attracted to women or am in a relationship with a woman, but that I have a masculine gender presentation, that I am not a "traditional" woman or daughter.
-Eventually, she connected her preconceptions and beliefs about gender to her feelings around my clothes. She admitted that she did not nag my brothers about the way they dress and has always been more critical of me. Mom realized that this whole time it wasn't that the clothes I was wearing were actually sloppy, poor quality, or ill-fitting, but that I was wearing clothes that she didn't think her daughter should wear, that I dressed more like a man. And it wasn't that the clothes weren't fitting, it was that I wasn't fitting her gendered expectations. She even talked about how if I were her son she'd think I was very handsome and good-looking.
-Another thing I told her was to let go of her worries that my sexual orientation is a cause of suffering, pain, and hurt in my life. I told her that it has been a positive part of my identity, that I have a community, friends, and partner because of it, and that it has never prevented me from getting work or living the life I imagined. In fact my life has been enriched by my queer identity.
We ended the conversation in a good place, thanking each other for being honest. She said that she is relieved that she didn't have to worry about me so much anymore. I told her to not worry about things that don't reflect reality (hmm, seems like this is a family habit)
Thinking about our conversation now, there is so much to process, but also so much to be grateful for:
-Being able to speak honestly with my mother and together get to the truth behind matters. I now know for sure that it's not that my parents don't like the way I look or think that I'm tasteless, but that they have been adjusting to me and my way of being in the world. And sometimes that is hard, but at least now we are talking about the same thing and know it is about gender.
-That I am able to hold onto a strong and positive sense of self in the face of someone who has the ability to pierce it and make me feel small (however unintentional it may be). I was able to draw hard boundaries in terms of what I will not accept from my mom in how she treats me, and told her firmly that I was not going to change the way I dress and move in the world.
-That I could get her to realize that all I want is for her to accept me the way I am, and that the way I am is more than enough.
These affirmations are mixed in with the sadness of the realization that my father sees me being like him as a problem, but I know too that he is making his own journey. He is grieving the daughter he imagined but never had. His most respectful and filial child, the one most invested in having a strong relationship with him and his wife, is not one of his sons. I think that time, conversations with my mom, and adjusting to the complicated but full and vivid reality of who I am will help him find peace.
This conversation showed me that I know who I am and that speaking from a place of wholeness and truth is an act of kindness and self-love. And it feels pretty damn good!
Sunday, December 19, 2010
somewhere I have never traveled/gladly beyond
So it looks like I'm blogging again, after an 8-year hiatus. That's right, I kept a Xanga as a teenager. It was full of the daily ridiculous angst of being in high school, and only a few select people who love me unconditionally and can help me laugh at myself instead of making me feel mortified have access to the link.
Why am I back after all these years? And why do I need a blog, when I'm a prolific Facebook user? This is my space to really reflect on what my travel means, and why I'm taking, as an acquaintance so aptly put it, a "radical sabbatical." She herself is a radical baker, having quit her day job to pursue baking full time for her social justice-y clients. I was hesitant about using "radical sabbatical" for the name of my blog, not wanting to be pretentious. After all, having enough class privilege to quit my job to travel to Asia with no other job lined up doesn't seem very radical. In fact, sometimes it just seems bougie and self-indulgent. I wonder who am I to complain about being burnt out and working too much when I had a desk job and management responsibilities by the age of 22. I am able-bodied and healthy and have a college degree and my parents are wealthy, dammit! Like the song says,
"And here we are in the center of the first world/
It's laid out before us, who are we to break down?"
("You, Me, and the Bourgeoisie" by The Submarines)
I could use this post to talk about capitalism, and class privilege, and the way the working world divides all of us from ourselves and our families and communities, and how everyone should have enough resources to be able to leave their job out of self-determination, but the world of analysis is one I'm very familiar with, and one that I'd like to leave for now. I acknowledge that all of the things I just mentioned are true, but there is something that feels like I'm justifying myself/making excuses/apologizing when I go down the "here is how my radical sabbatical fits into larger systems of oppression" route. Like I am trying to prove that I am a down lefty person, not just another entitled young person going through a quarter-life crisis. Like I am trying to convince people that I deserve this.
The funny thing is, no one has needed any convincing. Not my parents, my partner, my friends, my (former) boss, co-workers, and board members, my colleagues, not even the radical baker I have only met once before. They all smiled and said congratulations and were genuinely happy for me. Everyone has been kind and supportive. As usual, the only person who really needs convincing is myself.
Here is where the "sabbatical" part becomes more resonant to me. I have spent a lot of time meditating recently, as a healing practice and spiritual practice. I am a newborn when it comes to meditation, all blinking sensation and wonder. Not so much discipline right now, but that's okay. I also have a coach who has used meditation during our sessions to help me connect with right now, to keep coming back, coming home to my body and to the present moment. Both practices have revealed two essential truths about myself:
1) I struggle with the thought pattern/obsessive thinking about how unworthy, flawed, not good enough, undeserving, unlovable I am.
2) I am capable of deep, transformative, healing love.
Apply Number 2 to Number 1 and the problem's solved! Enlightenment attained! In all seriousness, something that I was reminded of today in sangha (meditation group) is that there is no problem: life is not a problem to be solved, it is a mystery to be lived. The practice is about improving the quality of our noticing, not getting better at fixing things. I am not a problem to be solved or a project to improve. The suffering of feeling worthless and the joy of unconditional love can exist simultaneously. They both live inside of me. Sometimes I am able to fill my own cup and it is powerful and healing. Sometimes there is only doubt and self-hatred. But I am starting to learn how to let go of these thoughts by showing myself compassion and kindness.
Ah, the land of self-love! That is the place I have not yet traveled yet. I hope that my physical travels are the first step, that among the adventure and excitement and (ah!) stress I also listen to myself, breathe, and come back, come back, come back.
"When we have gone in and looked around for a long while, just breathing and finally taking it in - then we will be able to speak in our own voice and to stay in the present moment. And that moment is home." (Anne Lamott)
I am leaving and returning, and always coming home.
Why am I back after all these years? And why do I need a blog, when I'm a prolific Facebook user? This is my space to really reflect on what my travel means, and why I'm taking, as an acquaintance so aptly put it, a "radical sabbatical." She herself is a radical baker, having quit her day job to pursue baking full time for her social justice-y clients. I was hesitant about using "radical sabbatical" for the name of my blog, not wanting to be pretentious. After all, having enough class privilege to quit my job to travel to Asia with no other job lined up doesn't seem very radical. In fact, sometimes it just seems bougie and self-indulgent. I wonder who am I to complain about being burnt out and working too much when I had a desk job and management responsibilities by the age of 22. I am able-bodied and healthy and have a college degree and my parents are wealthy, dammit! Like the song says,
"And here we are in the center of the first world/
It's laid out before us, who are we to break down?"
("You, Me, and the Bourgeoisie" by The Submarines)
I could use this post to talk about capitalism, and class privilege, and the way the working world divides all of us from ourselves and our families and communities, and how everyone should have enough resources to be able to leave their job out of self-determination, but the world of analysis is one I'm very familiar with, and one that I'd like to leave for now. I acknowledge that all of the things I just mentioned are true, but there is something that feels like I'm justifying myself/making excuses/apologizing when I go down the "here is how my radical sabbatical fits into larger systems of oppression" route. Like I am trying to prove that I am a down lefty person, not just another entitled young person going through a quarter-life crisis. Like I am trying to convince people that I deserve this.
The funny thing is, no one has needed any convincing. Not my parents, my partner, my friends, my (former) boss, co-workers, and board members, my colleagues, not even the radical baker I have only met once before. They all smiled and said congratulations and were genuinely happy for me. Everyone has been kind and supportive. As usual, the only person who really needs convincing is myself.
Here is where the "sabbatical" part becomes more resonant to me. I have spent a lot of time meditating recently, as a healing practice and spiritual practice. I am a newborn when it comes to meditation, all blinking sensation and wonder. Not so much discipline right now, but that's okay. I also have a coach who has used meditation during our sessions to help me connect with right now, to keep coming back, coming home to my body and to the present moment. Both practices have revealed two essential truths about myself:
1) I struggle with the thought pattern/obsessive thinking about how unworthy, flawed, not good enough, undeserving, unlovable I am.
2) I am capable of deep, transformative, healing love.
Apply Number 2 to Number 1 and the problem's solved! Enlightenment attained! In all seriousness, something that I was reminded of today in sangha (meditation group) is that there is no problem: life is not a problem to be solved, it is a mystery to be lived. The practice is about improving the quality of our noticing, not getting better at fixing things. I am not a problem to be solved or a project to improve. The suffering of feeling worthless and the joy of unconditional love can exist simultaneously. They both live inside of me. Sometimes I am able to fill my own cup and it is powerful and healing. Sometimes there is only doubt and self-hatred. But I am starting to learn how to let go of these thoughts by showing myself compassion and kindness.
Ah, the land of self-love! That is the place I have not yet traveled yet. I hope that my physical travels are the first step, that among the adventure and excitement and (ah!) stress I also listen to myself, breathe, and come back, come back, come back.
"When we have gone in and looked around for a long while, just breathing and finally taking it in - then we will be able to speak in our own voice and to stay in the present moment. And that moment is home." (Anne Lamott)
I am leaving and returning, and always coming home.
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