Anita Pai
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Rosie, thank you for your reflection. I enjoyed your comments on lineage through a line of makers. I, too, am an avid knitter! There is always something (or multiple somethings!) on my needles. It’s wonderful to be part of a lineage of makers, to know the many hands that find such joy in the act of creating. So much about knitting lends itself to being present and in the moment, a gift of the craft if I choose to allow it. I’ll check out the MedKNITation book! Thank you!
Ankur, thank you for sharing this beautiful reflection. I love that your mother called you Jhansi Ki Rani! Such a powerful story. I remember reading it when I was young from an Amar Chitra Katha book my Dad gave me. An inspiring story of courage and resilience. I, too, wrote of the power of story in my essay, so when I read your reflection, I felt a sense of connection with your love of this great story.
You also shared such a beautiful description of your childhood landscape, how even now you have a sense of reaching for it. I too find that the nature and landscapes of childhood made a strong impression on me.When I think of lineage, I think of connection. A line, like that of a family tree, that links individuals together across space and time. I consider stories a major part of my lineage—-both the stories themselves and the people who told them to me. Everyone tells a story differently, taking something that is universal and filtering it through their own unique perspective. I think that’s why a story always feels both new and familiar. There’s this beautiful thread of connection between the one who told the story and the one who listened.
As I thought about this week’s essay, I struggled a bit. Once I started thinking about lineage, I found I could see it everywhere. I realized that everything I do was passed on to me from someone. My parents and family, my many teachers, even nature itself, have all transmitted a loving bond that bolsters me, carrying me through life whether I choose to recognize it or not.
Even the simplest stories have power when they’re transmitted to another with love.As I contemplated how I would write this week’s essay, I kept coming back to a personal anecdote from the past, even though it seemed too simple to write about. But then I realized the anecdote elucidated this feeling of connection, how a simple story can be a powerful link between two people.
When my oldest child was young, he was a very picky eater. Convincing him to try new foods and eat adequate meals was a major challenge. One day, I suddenly remembered a story my mother used to tell me when I was my son’s age. I, too, was a picky eater as a child (but have thankfully since outgrown it!). I had completely forgotten about the story, and was surprised when it popped into my mind. It felt to me in the moment that the story had merely been slumbering, curled up deep in my subconscious all these years, waiting for the right moment to awaken and be summoned forth.
I told the story to my son that night at bedtime. The story itself is more involved, but here’s the gist:
~~There once was a boy who just so happened to be quite a finicky eater. This boy was so picky that he hardly ate at all. All the kids in his neighborhood would spend the afternoons riding their bikes and going on adventures. More than anything, the boy wanted his own bike so he could join his friends too. On his birthday, he received a beautiful new bike, but he was so weak from poor eating that he had no energy to ride it! From that day on, he decided he would eat better and try new foods so that he would never be stuck at home without his friends again. A happy ending for the boy and his family. ~~
Later that night, I called my mother. I was curious if I had the details of the story right. I wasn’t sure if she even remembered the story. It had been several decades, after all.
“Oh yes,” she’d said, after I recounted the details, “you got it right. You asked for that story so many times, and you always wanted it told the same way.”
We laughed together for a moment, but then we both got silent. I knew we were thinking back to those days, reliving those tender moments, each in our own way. Mother and child, child and mother.
“Do you think the story helped me become a less picky eater?” I asked her.
“Maybe,” she said. “I think you outgrew your pickiness in your own time. But I always loved telling you stories.”
My son also outgrew his pickiness in his own time. Did the story help? I can’t say for sure, but I loved our moments together, and all the stories we share.Jersey, thank you for sharing your personal experiences. Congratulations on your sobriety, and what a beautiful reflection on considering the other individuals attending meetings all around the world. It strengthens and supports that sense of connection to others and our common humanity. I also appreciate how you described taking your seat on the bus. A routine act that you imbue with its own honor and reverence. It made me reflect on how I approach, honor, and take my own “seat” as I move through my day. Thank you for your heartfelt words.
Liana, thank you for your thoughtful essay. I appreciate that you name the ongoing questions and grappling with where you sit in response. I’m also curious about those who fully embrace nihilism, those who have done so for a large part of their lives, and what questions they contemplate. I, too, during times of hardship in my younger years, have felt a part of me that wanted to bend towards the nihilistic side. For me it was like a coping or defense mechanism, because facing the immense emotion (fear, pain, sadness) brought on by the hardship was such a difficult thing to do. Thanks again for sharing!
For me, it was eternalism that came first. When my world was governed by my parents, their expectations set during my young and tender years. If I act a certain way, follow the pre-set rules, live up to the ideals presented before me, then my life will be blessed and perfect. I know these expectations came from a place of love, a place that held my parents’ hopes and dreams for me in this country they came to call home. I played by the rules, quashing the early stirrings of rebellion as a teenager, too afraid to test the waters at home.
But enter……the college years! The time period in my life when nihilism shoved eternalism to the back seat, taking the wheel. A shift.
My parents weren’t there watching me. I could make my own rules, ones that suited my life, and my much younger self’s idea of happiness at the time. Rules that were as fluid and changeable as waters rising during a flood. This meant, for instance, that the rules on a Tuesday night could look very different from the rules on a Friday or Saturday night! Whatever worked to make me think I was living my best life.
As I entered the next big phases of my life, roles that would define the coming decades (spouse, physician, parent), a shift once again took place. This time, eternalism reclaimed its front row spot, settling back into the driver’s seat for the long haul.
I won’t deny that it felt good to return to the rules and the greater cause, to be playing the “good girl” again. But deep down, something about it felt off. I knew I didn’t want to return to the days of nihilism, which I now chalked up to that catchphrase of “finding myself” in my twenties. At the same time, I had somehow equated eternalism with perfectionism. And it was exhausting. Discovering meditation and mindfulness practices helped me to see these two aspects—-eternalism and nihilism—-as the opposite sides of a river. My practice continues (and will probably always continue!) to be one of finding that balance between these two opposite riverbanks. It’s how I visualize for myself the practice of the middle way.Hi Djuna,
Thank you for your thoughtful words on key elements that support the discovery process. I appreciate that you touched on gentleness as one of these keys. Gentleness—-specifically, learning to be gentle with myself—-has been a transformative aspect of my own practice. It took a while, and many moments of noticing when I was being harsh and critical towards myself, to appreciate the quiet strength and nurturing quality of gentleness. It has become a practice unto itself, and continues to support me on this journey.
Thanks,
AnitaHi Lauren,
I appreciate how you illuminated the way finding space has looked in the different roles you’ve inhabited. It made me reflect on the various roles that I play in my life, and how the thread of finding space can look different in each role, but is also connected by my deeper intentions. How each role is, like you mentioned, a way of introducing yourself to yourself.
I also appreciate your comment on how deep listening allows us to access deeper connection. Deep listening is something I’ve made a commitment to practice more intentionally this year, and this is a good reminder to renew that intention!
Thanks,
AnitaMy thoughts for this week’s essay kept returning to the idea of a container. The shape and structure of this container hold our practice stable. The beauty is that this allows what goes into the container to be as unique as the person filling it. The container is a resting place, allowing each of us to come as we are in the moment, regardless of the residues of the day that may still cling to us. It is a safe, reliable place that supports the exploration of what is here now.
Each of us brings our own unique and personal qualities to this endeavor. The practice helps us uncover and inhabit our own gifts, and discover how they are of benefit to ourselves and others. It is important as a teacher to support others in bringing their own curiosity to this discovery process by providing the appropriate tools for this unfolding—-the container—-without putting our own ideas of how something should look, act, or be. Providing the stable container facilitates the work, supported by compassion, and never trying to force a certain outcome.
Most importantly, I think as a teacher we must stay faithful to our practice, faithful to our own expression of the practice when we are out in the world. We model to others this authentic possibility, the practice of being more fully ourselves. This supports others as they embark on their own journeys of discovery. I like to imagine all these many individual containers, each filled with the jewel-toned expressions of who we are, both as unique individuals and as a collective whole.
