When I was a little girl, I was terrified of the world. Shy, introverted, and quiet – I kept to myself. It was here, within myself, that a whole new world was born, a world where I could do anything, be anyone, go anywhere. When I read, I’d join my heroes in their adventures and feel what it was like to be free of worry and fear. Alone, at night, I’d make up extraordinary story lines where I was treated with kindness, respect, and unconditional love. Oddly enough, I don’t think I’ve ever thought of myself as a fearful person, until now. Not that I wasn’t scared before, but I didn’t see it; and I don’t think others saw it either.
My childhood required much bravery. And as my body grew stronger and my mind keener, I did manage to become a brave little person. What I realize now, is that my soul, my passions, my purpose – well, not so much. Why? What did I miss? Connection. It’s so clear now.
As a child I day-dreamed about the time I’d grow into an independent woman, where I’d wake up in my own apartment, dress up in a suit a heels, drive to work in a red jeep, and then come home to my golden retriever. I longed for independence (suit and heels), for permanence (own place), for freedom and simplicity (jeep), for loyal love (golden retriever).
As I grew up I did all the things that were considered brave.
At 14 I joined the rough crowd in high school. These kids, myself included, labelled as ‘problem students’, were merely searching for meaning, and we’d try anything to find it. I read Che Guevara’as biography and smoked weed in my best-friend’s backyard, discussing fragments of Carlos Cataneda, Ken Wilber, and Aldous Huxley (all found in her father’s eclectic collection). I wasn’t attracted to defiance and unruliness, what I craved so badly was to feel strong. I was searching for hope.
On my quest for independence, at 18, I chose to study at a university away from home, but these years were ridden with anxiety, eating disorders and depression. I studied hard and got good grades (I had a scholarship, so I had to). I was an intern at the psychology department, I volunteered, I did have a group of close friends. But even then, I didn’t manage to connect. So distraught was my soul, that I couldn’t focus on becoming who I wanted to be. So I drifted, and changed, metamorphosed into whatever I thought would finally give me direction.
Still thinking distance would ‘cure’ me (from being broken and incomplete), at 22, I travelled through Europe on my own. I defied all odds, embarking on senseless adventures, risking my safety (don’t we all at 22?), met some amazing people, but never felt as lonely and defeated. How can one stand at the bottom of the Eiffel Tower and instead of awe, feel like there will never be anything inspiring enough for me to let go of all my anxious, lonely, and broken feelings? The only time I felt truly content was during my last 10 days. I was on a Greek island, penniless. I slept in a tent I had bought for 5 euros, ate only watermelon and the occasional beer, and got as brown as I’d always thought would make me beautiful. No museums, no sights, no adventures. Just stillness. Still, when I stepped out of that plane and hugged my mom and my brother, I never imagined that the surge of relief could be so strong. I wept in her arms like a baby. Connection.
I’ve sought meaning and purpose and hope ever since I can remember. It began with children’s books, which made me believe life could be simple and fair. I then devoured any book I could get my hands on, reading between the lines, over-analyzing, reaching far-fetched and sometimes outrageous conclusions on life and love. I continued with the revolutionary minds of latin america and eastern europe, followed by philosophers, radical thinkers, shamans, and everything in-between. I was a lost little soul in a big, strong body; a broken heart in a relentless mind.
I’m writing this because I believe there are two fundamental truths here.
One, none of us are broken, or incomplete, or lost. It may seem like we are, we may feel hopeless and defeated, but the beauty of being human, is that we are all part of a system; we are all inter-connected. I am not who I am in isolation, for it is only through others, through language and culture that we can create any type of perception and meaning. And we are all one and the same. We don’t see it, because our mind creates the illusion of ‘self’. We need this idea of individuality to give us identity. But we must not forget, that our essence is one. There is a beautiful sutra by Thich Nhat Hanh that illustrates just this.
Call Me by My True Names
Do not say that I’ll depart tomorrow
because even today I still arrive.
Look deeply: I arrive in every second
to be a bud on a spring branch,
to be a tiny bird, with wings still fragile,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.
I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
in order to fear and to hope.
The rhythm of my heart is the birth and
death of all that are alive.
I am the mayfly metamorphosing on the surface of the river,
and I am the bird which, when spring comes, arrives in time
to eat the mayfly.
I am the frog swimming happily in the clear pond,
and I am also the grass-snake who, approaching in silence,
feeds itself on the frog.
I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks,
and I am the arms merchant,selling deadly weapons to
Uganda.
I am the twelve-year-old girl, refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean after being raped by a sea
pirate,
and I am the pirate, my heart not yet capable of seeing and
loving.
I am a member of the politburo, with plenty of power in my
hands,
and I am the man who has to pay his “debt of blood” to, my
people,
dying slowly in a forced labor camp.
My joy is like spring, so warm it makes flowers bloom in all
walks of life.
My pain if like a river of tears, so full it fills the four oceans.
Please call me by my true names,
so I can hear all my cries and laughs at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.
Please call me by my true names,
so I can wake up,
and so the door of my heart can be left open,
the door of compassion.
Thich Nhat Hanh
And, just as I am not broken or helpless, because we are all part of a universal consciousness, it is in this interconnection that what I was so vehemently searching for, is found. It is in the giving and receiving, the laughing and the crying, it is in the learning and the teaching, in the wrong-doing and the forgiving, in holding on and letting go, it is in the connection, in the forming of relationships, in the flow of energy and emotions, that our humanity, exposed and vulnerable, is found.
I still don’t go to work in a suit and heels, I don’t own a jeep, and my golden retriever will have to wait until I my apartment is bigger than a studio. But I do have independence, permanence, freedom, simplicity, and loyal love. I have found meaning, and purpose, and direction. Connection still scares me, maybe it always will. But today I know that there is no moment to fear, because we are all one and the same. The universe is inherently good, we must believe this with every fibre in our body, with every last hope we can dream up.
The Whole Human Experience 