Posted: July 31st, 2015 | No Comments »
The secret to happiness is caring about others. Simple. Yet, my mind has an addiction to being self-centered. I learned this important lesson again recently at a community sit.
I was three weeks into being a Modern Monk at Center for Mindful Learning (CML). I was not sure what to expect coming here. But I am surprised at how happy and liberated I feel now. While I plan on returning to urban life, I could train at CML for a year or more.
So, three weeks in, I went to Burlington Quaker House. CML does a weekly Sunday talk and guided meditations. It may of been my first time outside of the monastery.
Soryu, our teacher, is giving the talk and guided practice. He introduces a guided listening meditation to note each sound as pleasant or unpleasant. Noting sounds as neutral is not an option.
And I hate this place. The chair hurts my ass. It’s impossible to sit straight in it. A family of mosquitoes swarm and bite me. People are talking outside like right by the window. Car horns are blaring. Folks keep entering and leaving the room. I miss the monastery. My lovely cushion. The silence and stillness. The beautiful windows displaying nature. No one moving or leaving the room.
I’m noting every single sound as unpleasant. Unpleasant is a weak description. Offensive fits. Even the chirping birds feel like an attack against my peace. The mental dialogue I’m having about the experience is itself annoying.
Reminder: I’m not looking for meditation advice. I’ve practiced meditation for a decade. I know how to calm myself down. But I told myself I would just do the practice of noting pleasant or unpleasant sounds. I wouldn’t do self-motivation talk, therapy, or change my technique. Every single second is just noting a sound and its flavor.
So, I’m sitting in my torture chair noting frustration and tension at every sound. Both the sounds from outside and the mental dialogue inside are just pain and suffering.
Then this magical moment happens.
I don’t cause it to happen. I wasn’t looking for it. It just happened outside myself. It was like one of those Zen stories. A woman is walking down a path with a glass jar of water. The jar slips and shatters on the ground. The jarring sound causes a sudden awakening for the woman.
Likewise, this moment was a doorway to infinite love and easy, deep concentration. And it all came from an ordinary, everyday experience.
The woman sitting in front of me sneezes.
That’s it. She sneezed.
At first, I note the sound of the sneeze and am halfway through noting unpleasantness of sound. But I notice that doesn’t actually feel true. I’m puzzled. This is different. What changed? I realize that in the moment right after she sneezed, I was actually concerned about her. I wanted to say god bless you. I am outside of myself. These thoughts and realizations happen in a micro second.
This simple insight is so clear in my direct experience. I already know it; I’ve already experienced it before. But I need constant reminders. My suffering stops when my attention gets directed at caring for others or even myself. My meditation session immediately changes like a light switch.
It’s no longer a struggle to sit still and relax. Every sound is loving and pleasant. Even the sound of someone on the roof banging away reminds me that someone cares about this place to fix it up. The flushing toilet makes me grateful that we live in a country that has clean sanitation.
This moment is the great fruit of meditation. When everything is the same yet my experience transforms out of nowhere. My consciousness breaks free from its self-centered delusion to a wider, truer reality. Everyone experiences this phenomenon in sports, love, and any flow state. But meditation makes it so, so crystal clear. Joy is not about the outside world. Being able to transcend and embody every moment is not about what I’m doing, how I feel, or what I believe. It’s just my orientation, my attitude to experiencing the world. Whether I am experiencing from a closed, self-centered perspective or an open, inclusive viewpoint.
Pay attention next time someone sneezes. Hear, see, & feel what is
Posted: June 12th, 2015 | 2 Comments »
“To study the Buddha Way is to study the self. To study the self is to forget the self. To forget the self is to be actualized by myriad things. When actualized by myriad things, your body and mind as well as the bodies and minds of others drop away. No trace of enlightenment remains, and this no-trace continues endlessly.”
Today was my last day working as an IT professional. I worked at my former company for ten years. Tomorrow will be the first day I’ve ever been without a paying job since I was 17. That’s huge. As high up there as my first retreat. Maybe even more than losing my virginity. The fear of being financially destitute has haunted me as long as I can remember.
Tomorrow, I’m driving to Dai Bosatsu, a Rinzzai Zen monastery in Upper New York. I’ll be practicing a week long retreat with the Mondo Zen school.
After the retreat ends, I’ll drive immediately to The Center for Mindful Learning (CML) in Johnson, Vermont. I’m joining their small group of full time, young residents for at least six months.
After 2.5 years in Boston, I’m leaving my job, my friends, and most of my old life.
Friends have quizzed me about my future life in Vermont. Can I have guests? What kind of work will I be doing? How long will I be there? What will I do afterwards? I don’t know. I have no backup plans. I visited the center once and meet with several of the residents and the teacher, Soryu. I found out about CML from my friend Daniel. I meet him three years ago when I volunteered at the Buddhist Geeks conference. It’s ironic to think that I went to the conference with hopes of finding a mindful company I could join. Three years later, it sort of worked out that way.
Months ago, I was contemplating what I would do next year. I bounced between different extreme options. Apply for a divinity or counseling graduate program? Move to urban residential center? Travel around the world while working remote? Move to CML?
I’ve always wanted to practice intensely in a retreat center. I worried though that it was for the wrong reasons. Did I want to go to escape from life or find some magic enlightenment pill so I wouldn’t ever feel lost or suffer again? The idea of taking vows for life never appealed to me. But I did feel an extended practice period would be necessary. I also felt there was a fear of giving up my existing life. My freedom, my income, my friends. But I knew if I had a million dollars, I would absolutely go to CML… Okay. I don’t have a million dollars though. My concern is related to finances. Could I afford to go? I carry zero debt. I have enough savings to last me more than enough time to find another job even if it’s not ideal work. So, becoming a monastic wouldn’t destroy me financially. The real fear is opportunity cost then. Would I be gaining more by going to CML versus keeping my job and continue to build my life by myself?
The truth actually hit me hardest while doing a circling intensive weekend in NYC. The reality was that I rely on myself so much to get things done. I have a hard time relying on others. I had tried to build external groups and structures to hold me accountable whether it was the dharma house, joining coaching programs, or cultivating practice groups. Even going so far to buy a RV and travel cross country to force me out of my comfort. But, at the end of the day, I can’t fulfill my dreams by myself. I kept thinking that the really serious people who take dharma as their life are probably at a center, in a divinity program, or actually doing the work. They are not going to show up to beginner drop-in programs.
The CML was a opportunity to have others support me and keep me accountable. Everyone wakes up at 5am to practice. There would be no escape from each other or myself. I would grow and benefit in Vermont. Whereas, another year in Boston? I don’t know how much would really change. It would mostly be on my shoulders as it has for so many years now.
In addition to the meditation practice, the CML offered a sort of dharma, startup non-profit. I’ve always had an entrepreneurial itch but how to apply this to mindfulness without becoming a hypocrite? This was one of my greatest questions of figuring out Right Livelihood. Here I would have the chance to explore this Great Question with other brothers and sisters.
To be sure, it hasn’t all been roses and sunshine. The past few weeks, I’ve felt a mild undercurrent of dread, fear, and excitement. Every morning, my very first thought is about Vermont. It still feels unreal.
Just a little over a year from now, I’ll be 30 years old. In my time in Boston, I’ve gotten more and more confidence in that I can be the person I truly want to be. My entire life previously had felt like a series of compromises. That there was no space for me to be the person I wanted. Whether it was feeling lost as a Korean American that didn’t even fit in amongst other Korean Americans. As a young student wanting to pursue video game development or web development but finding universities did not take it seriously. Or a graduate student interested more in contemplative practice than philosophical knowledge. Each time, I took the financially safe choice. I followed the money and thought I could do it by myself. Each time, I found myself later years ahead my time. Video game and web development are huge billion dollar industries now. Contemplative education and research is huge with meditation even taught in university classrooms. I see mindfulness now reaching towards a peak moment in popularity, impact, and recognition. I see other role models carving unorthodox paths that interest me. I’m going to trust my gut this time. I have the finances to carry me. I’ve exhausted my other options.
Right now, I can only keenly feel what I’m losing soon. Impermanence. Constant change. My old friends like Dan, Shuo, and Jimmy who were why I came to Boston in the first place. My dharma communities in Kwam Um Zen, CIMC, and Shambhala. All the friends who feel like my tribe. My people. This is the best time I’ve ever had in Boston. I feel the pain of giving that up.
I remember an old college puzzle. The aspirant on the path fears making the leap of faith into the unknown. The bottomless depths impossible to grasp. Yet, once the jump is made, the surprise, the joke, the absurdity that the leap was no leap at all. There was solid ground always there.
I’ll be making that leap tomorrow and next week and for the rest of my life. I hope that I find solid ground more times than not. But I’ll be okay either way. In the end, the choice is no choice at all. I remember my graduate thesis between Sartre and Buddhism. Beyond good faith and bad faith, there is authenticity. To live the mystery of being myself or running away. Let me keep finding the courage, faith, and support to stay at the edge of being myself.
Years ago, my mentor Dr P gave me a thoughtful note summarizing me: “I find myself to lose myself. I lose myself to find myself.”
Posted: October 23rd, 2014 | No Comments »
It’s been four days since my last shower. Four days since I had any meaningful contact with another human being.
Finally, here I am. Boulder, Colorado. The happiest place in America. Multiple publications have deemed this city to be the healthiest, happiest and smartest place in America. To prove the point, the city has more bike paths than paved roads.
I have a few friends in town, but they’re not free until the evening. I have an entire day to kill. Shit, I’m so lonely and tired.
I wander through town for miles admiring the blue sky and beautiful mountains so close I could touch them.
I decide to checkout Naropa University. My dream graduate school that I once applied for but never went. What if? Let’s see.
It’s the summer so nobody’s around. I walk into the library. There’s a beautiful girl working the counter. Helping some guy. I sneak away into the stacks of books, into the Buddhist and Daoist section. They have a copy of the Zhunagzi. I read it until I fall asleep. Some time later, awakened.
A war rages within my mind. Two voices. Opportunity and Fear through the lens of self-judgment.
OPPORTUNITY: Go talk to the girl! Learn about the school.
FEAR: But what if she doesn’t like me? What am I suppose to say? I look like shit. I haven’t showered or shaved in days. Maybe, I can just wait for my friends to get off work first….
OPPORTUNITY: For Christ sake, you’re 1,700 miles away from home. You brought a RV. You did all this to force yourself out of your comfort zone. Carpe Diem! GO!
It took me five days of driving far from home for me to do a cold approach, to talk to a pretty girl once again:
Me: Hi, I just got in town and interested in Naropa. Are you a graduate student here?
Library Girl: No, no I’m not. I’m actually an undergrad…..But maybe I can help. What program are you looking into?
Me: Well, I was really interested in the Counseling Psych program. I actually just drove into Boulder last night and volunteering at a Buddhist Geeks conference tomorrow. But I thought I’d try to know more about Naropa while I’m here…
Library Girl.: Oh, well, I have a friend that’s in the grad program, I could give you her contact info. And, actually, maybe my boss would talk to you. He did a grad program here although not in psychology. Do you want to talk to him?
Me: Umm….sure. Yeah that would be great. Thanks so much.
[…. Awkward conversation with the boss in his office about how great Naropa is and how everyone wants to come back and work for them…..]
Me (awkwardly putting on my messenger back over my head and talking at the same time): Hey, thanks a lot. That helped me out. Umm, I know this is kind of weird. But what time do you get off? Are you hungry by chance? I’m starving and my friends in town are busy until late evening….
Library Girl.: Well, I’m not actually hungry….But I could drink some tea! I get off in twenty minutes if that works?
Me: Sure! I’ll just be outside reading. See you soon!
To The Girl Who Shall Not Be Named:
Admittedly, I don’t remember the full conversation. I’m sure it lasted a lot longer. There were multiple points of time at which the conversation could of & should of just died right then. But, I felt like you kept giving me more rope to work with. Maybe I started the conversation, but you definitely helped to make sure it continued.
Twenty minutes later, we walked to a thai restaurant that was closed. Then another place. Closed. Finally a hole in the wall Asian place. Given your younger age, initially, I didn’t think much of you or us as a possibility. It was just so nice to have company and conversation. But, bit by bit, I became fascinated. You were intelligent, genuine, ambitious, and beautiful. I noted a sadness surrounding your upbringing and life back home. You had a fierce independence born out of necessity that I admired and empathized with. Yet, you didn’t seem to hold the same bitterness about it. I was falling for you.
There’s only a few people in an entire lifetime that I feel connected deeply to. They are so rare and precious to find. The ones where I can just say a few words, but you can hear and understand entire worlds I’m conveying. Where there’s no need for explanation, we just get each other.
After I ate, we continued walking along the Boulder creek. We sat on a bench for hours it felt like talking about our lives and watching a man try to teach his dog to swim.
Soon, it was getting dark and time to see my friend. I really liked you but what kind of relationship could this be? I was planning on staying in Boulder only for a week or less. We exchanged promises to meet soon and parted ways.
Over the days, we meet again and again. My mind and heart became infatuated in ways I hadn’t felt since college. I struggled to hold onto sanity every time one of my text messages to you went unanswered. Once, I wrote out a long message I was planning to leave on your VM when you suddenly texted me back. I later mentioned it, and you laughed.
There was the moment we hung out at the top of a playground rocketship. A little boy who didn’t speak English joined us. I played a terrible magician trying to swallow a pebble and then reveal it in my hand. Instead, I actually put the stone in my mouth and acted like I was choking. Both of you laughed.
Later that same day, we talked on and on into the wee hours of the morning like a movie cliche. I thought you had mentioned a boyfriend before but must of misheard because you were wearing rather short shorts and a tight, revealing shirt. I told you I have a new practice of trying to be honest. And to be honest, I am deeply attracted to you, but I don’t want to ruin any other relationship in your life. You smiled and said you were poly.
I went to sleep that night cuddling with you thinking this moment was truly magnificent. The months and years of turmoil over the RV. The driving 1,700 miles across the country. No matter what had happened or would happen in the future, this moment, alone, was worth it all. And it was. My heart fell like it had blown open. This cold lump in my chest suddenly a blazing fire and sun radiating out through my body. So, this is what it feels like to be truly alive. To be fully present, awake, overjoyed, and to want nothing more from this moment…..well, nothing except for those awkward farts to stop from that supposedly lactose free ice cream. I kept going to the bathroom thinking there was a problem but was just flatulence. I would of been more upset if it wasn’t so outrageous. Why am I mentioning this now? Did you know?
If you had asked, I would of stayed in Boulder forever. But you had a life already set, part of the reason why I fell for you. And I was still a nomad heading to the Pacific. We made loose plans to see each again soon enough.
I’d leave Boulder in a few weeks to begin the next chapter filled with sorrow and hardship.
A few months later, on the way back, I would meet you again. I even proposed moving in together. But you already had plans with another lucky guy.
A year later, I would return to Boulder for the Buddhist Geeks conference once again. But you never responded to my earlier voice mail months before. So, I steeled myself to not contact you.. One of the last days, I walked back to my friend’s house. A good forty minute walk. I kept repeating a mantra, “She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone. Let her go. She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s…” I had to let go of the grief and sadness over that tiny but densely packed moment in our lives together.
Two years later, I would serendipitously be in Boulder again, this time just for a few hours. I sent you a message hoping for nothing. Just curious to know how you were and what closure might be possible. I had deleted your contact before, too painful to read those old messages. I wondered after two years if you still even had me in your phone. You responded back immediately. I was surprised and gladded. I assume you knew who I was. But you were out of town and busy. This wouldn’t be a Before Sunset type story. But, I was happy for you. You were doing well it sounded like. And I must of meant at least something. Assuming you even knew who was texting you.
In the end, it was just a few days together. But I was grateful to let good things pass and having ever existed at all. My heart opened in Boulder. That was a priceless gift.
Posted: October 9th, 2014 | No Comments »
I left Delaware on a Friday afternoon. A storm had caused chaos that week. I remember the electricity was still out at my parent’s house. But I was going west. My first stop Pittsburgh.
I expected Pittsburgh to be an industrial wasteland. Instead, I found a pretty thriving city. I knew one couple in Pittsburgh but not very well at all. They were more like distant family friends. I sent Sara a Facebook message at the last moment before driving off.
I had also tried to find people to hangout with through reddit and couchsurfing. A few people even offered to buy me a drink. Once I got to Pittsburgh, my inner alarms went off. Too weird. Too dangerous. No, I wouldn’t meet strangers via the internet.
Instead I used yelp to look for a hipster bar. I parked my RV. Went to the bar. Had a drink and talked to the bartender. But I suddenly felt nervous, terrified, and lonely. What the hell am I doing? The same thoughts and feelings overwhelming me once again.
I was too terrified to talk to strangers at the bar. I went outside and started calling down my list of friends. Just hoping one of them would pick up. The first leg of the journey, just five hours away from home, and I was getting cold feet.
Finally, one of my friends, Camille picked up. We talked. I settled down.
Eventually, I returned to the bar, talked to a few people. I went back to my RV half drunk and went to sleep. The magical, adventure of traveling cross country. Had I spent two years for this sad experience?
Sara sent me a message. She couldn’t immediately meet me, but her husband, John, could. The next morning we met up in a coffee shop. I planned on leaving after our coffee meeting to Chicago.
John was a most interesting guy. I had only meet him twice before, very briefly. He was getting a Ph D in the humanities and read books of philosophy for fun. It feels oddly rare to meet another Asian/Korean American young intellectual. So many of us end up focusing on just thriving in the world as doctors, engineers, or some other profession. To prove to our parents, to our fellow Americans, and ourselves through our wealth and career status that we belong here. So, I felt an immediate kindred soul in John for doing such an odd career.
We chatted for a few hours about teaching, academia, Korean American experience, relationships, and so on. Towards the end, he invited me to stay around longer at least to see the wife. Remembering the previous night’s loneliness, I agreed to stay the night. Later, I met up with Sara who was going to be a pastor. How interesting, a female pastor. I asked her did anyone ever teach her how to pray? It seems curious that in Buddhist circles in America, there are different meditation practices. Yet, remembering my Catholic days, I don’t think anyone ever taught me how to pray.
I spent the afternoon exploring Pittsburgh by myself. I would suggest skipping the Heinz Museum if you’re ever visiting.
What I took away the most from the 36-48 hours in Pittsburgh was just how much people are good yet how important framing matters in a situation. Here I was. I wasn’t really friends with this couple, didn’t have either of their phone numbers beforehand. If we were living in the same city, it would of been rude and odd for me to just call upon them to stay over.
But I was in a RV driving cross country. That in itself was enough for people’s interest to be peeked. Obvious to everyone, I wasn’t trying to take advantage of anyone. The situation was such that they could help me, and I obviously could use the help. Time and time again, many friends, both old and new, would offer their homes to me, sometimes weeks on end. People want to do good, want to genuinely help others. But, we also don’t want to get hurt or mistreated.
The next day, I’d sail off for Chicago.
I spent less than 24 hours in Chicago. I was on a schedule to get to Boulder, Colorado soon and had already spent too much time in Pittsburgh. So, the next 2-3 days went by in a blur driving endlessly west through an ocean of corn. I worked in the day, drove in the evening, and slept in the RV in forgotten lands.
Photo is the Cathedral of Learning, taken from Univ of Pittsburgh’s site. Quite a cool place to checkout.
Posted: September 29th, 2014 | No Comments »
Two years ago, I journeyed westward on my second and final RV adventure.
It’s hard to believe I once owned a RV or even did this trip. This second adventure was a turning point in my life and so it’s been difficult to write about those months. How do I value those months? Is it possible to encompass into a single story? Was it all a waste of time and money? Or a life-changing milestone?
I decided that even an imperfect story is better than none. In future posts, I’ll write about specific cities and incidents. But, in this post here, I am going to cover an overview of the entire journey; all of the background motivations, highlights, and conclusions.
Background Pre-RV Ownership
a prominent theme in my thoughts from the past year was the idea of achieving great success or great failure. i felt like i had played it safe out of necessity for many years. But lacking any environmental/institutional pressures upon me anymore and having enough resources to safeguard me, i should take some real risks to reap some great benefits or miseries.
in a way, i wonder if i subconsciously am testing my limits to the point of destruction and thereby knowing where my limits truly lie. at the same time, i haven’t really been taking many risks, i haven’t really done anything spectacular.
I looked back at my writings from 2010 to revisit my mindset of why I purchased this most expensive and terrifying piece of my life.
In those years, I was in a long, transitional crisis after my academia dreams scattered. All my life decisions had hinged on finances. I had chosen all of my schools based on the largest scholarship package. By the end of grad school, I wondered that maybe playing it financially safe had backfired. I thought maybe if I had gone to the right schools I would still be on the right track. But the “right” schools would of meant debt. I had played it financially safe but maybe my life and dreams suffered as a result.
After realizing academia wasn’t my future, a prudent man would of traveled the world, joined a new tech company, or maybe go to graduate school for a different career. But I couldn’t let go of my existing job which let me work from home. Instead, I experimented and challenged myself in ways I never thought before. I did Toast Masters for public speaking, took an improv class, hired physical trainers, did pickup for socializing, tried to startup a business, and of course, this RV. I wanted to pursue skills that would serve me in any field for the rest of my life. The very same skills that frightened me the most.
I sought salvation and purpose by forcing myself into challenging situations where my only option was to sink or swim.
I wanted to be capable of overcoming any obstacle. Which is to say, I never wanted to feel small, inadequate, incapable, or hopeless ever again. I thought I had to forcibly put myself into those hard situations where I had no one else to rely on. No familiar habit, place, or people to hide. In hindsight, I think it had its benefits. But, the flooding technique has its limitations. It provides a glimpse that change is possible. But it relies way too much on a fortunate, lucky environment rather than actual deliberate practice and skill.
Mark Manson has a good piece on this about traveling that encompasses my experience:
Many people embark on journeys around the world in order to “find themselves.”…
Whenever somebody claims they want to travel to “find themselves,” this is what I think they mean: They want to remove all of the major external influences from their lives, put themselves into a random and neutral environment, and then see what person they turn out to be.
By removing their external influences — the overbearing boss at work, the nagging mother, the pressure of a few unsavory friends — they’re then able to see how they actually feel about their life back home.
So perhaps a better way to put it is that you don’t travel to “find yourself,” you travel in order to get a more accurate perception of who you were back home, and whether you actually like that person or not.
But here’s the problem: Travel is yet another external influence.
The person you are on a beach in Cuba is not the person you are sitting in the cubicle in the middle of butt ass winter in Chicago. The person you are on a road trip through Eastern Europe is not the person you are at a family reunion in Toronto.
The self is highly adaptable to its external environment, and ironically, the more you change your external environment, the more you lose track of who you actually are, because there’s nothing solid to compare yourself against.
And rather than discover who you are, you begin to question who you are. One year you go to France and love it. The next you go and hate it. Taking that new job sounded like a great idea back home, now it sounds like a horrible idea, but then it sounds like a great idea as soon as you get back. One year you are a certifiable beach bum, the next beaches bore you and you have no idea why.
Is everything really changing that much? Or is it just you?
Frequent travel puts your identity into constant flux where it’s impossible to distinguish with certainty who you are or what you know, or whether you really know anything at all.
And this is a good thing.
Because uncertainty breeds skepticism, it breeds openness, and it breeds non-judgment. Because uncertainty helps you to grow and evolve.
And when you go long enough being uncertain of who you really are, what results is a form of subtle, long-term meditation — a persistent and necessary acceptance of whatever is arising…
And at some point, you just stop asking questions. And start listening. To the waves and the wind and the calls for love in all of the beautiful languages you will never understand.
You just let it be. And keep moving.
At the time, I thought a lot about what distinguished the masters from everyone else. Why is it 99% of people never reach the pinnacle of their goals. Reading everyone’s success stories, it seemed the underlying theme was passing through a breaking point, sometimes facing death itself. All of them took significant life risks and committed themselves to a journey whether they were physical, emotional, financial, or otherwise. Ordinary actions lead to ordinary results. Only extraordinary actions can lead to extraordinary results. I had major goals I wanted to accomplish within a few short years. Rather than building slowly, I wanted to build fast and large. I thought taking significant, calculated risks was the way. That the reward is proportionate to the amount of risk.
So, I went ahead buying a used RV, initially for 14k and negotiated down to ~12k. I thought worst case scenario, in a few years, I make back my initial investment. If I lived in it full time for even a year then any gas, repair, or equipment cost would equal the rent I would of paid anyway to live in a major city.
“Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.”
“I was surprised, as always, be how easy the act of leaving was, and how good it felt. The world was suddenly rich with possibility.”
“I was halfway across America, at the dividing line between the East of my youth and the West of my future.”
– On the Road, Jack Kerouac
Those three months felt like years.
- I volunteered and meet fellow Buddhist Geeks.
- I fell in love in Boulder.
- My RV transmission broke down in Portland ending my travels. On the same day, my RV got robbed.
- I gambled poker in Las Vegas for a week.
- I wrote my largest coding project in coffee shops in San Francisco.
- I meet the source of my RV inspiration, Tynan.
- I kept meeting friends, old and new.
I drove from Delaware to Oregon, down the coast of California, and back to Delaware in the span of three months. All the while working a full time job.
Post RV Thoughts
“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms.”
A month after returning home, I sold the RV via Craigslist to a grandfather in Washington DC. The following day, I drove to Boston to begin my new life.
By the end, my visions of wealth, success, and growth were shattered. I spent a year recovering and reorienting my life after years of obsessively focusing on visions of pickup, business, RV, and other ventures. I lived like a monk meditating every day. I started therapy. I didn’t interact with a lot of people. I moved to Boston telling my friends I looked forward to finally living a quiet. boring life again. And I did and I do.
That RV. The RV. My RV was special. I learned a tremendous deal traveling those three months. It also forced me to face some of my biggest inner demons. It forced me to really question what the hell am I doing with my life? Why am I doing this?
There were countless groundlessness moments both exhilarating and terrifying. Many moments of despair and doubt. Many moments of just wanting to break down and end this stupid journey. Many moments of just having to dig deep within me to keep going on.
But every day seemed like magic. There was no common pattern I could follow. Figuring out where to park, where to sleep, where to eat, and where to work were all daily difficulties, constantly changing.
Although sometimes I wish I still had that old RV, that I could go drive into the wild once again. Traveling forces a constant awareness of the present moment. It’s a great high to feel completely engaged with every moment.
I went west thinking the journey would change me for the better. To become brave, fearless, to let go. And I sort of did. Going west the challenge, the confrontation with life was whether I could let go of the old, of my identity, of my safety and comforts to engage with the unknown, ever changing, present moment? But that freedom was dependent on constantly moving. On never staying still. Never building a home. Always being a visitor. Coming back to the East Coast, to move permanently to Boston, I realized that the next, large challenge was to be free in the midst of building a home.
The greatest gift that old Rialta RV gave me was the experience. I ventured thousands of miles away from home, survived, and even thrived. After Florida, I was confident I could move anywhere, make friends, and develop a life. After the westward travel, I exhausted that dream that I still see in people’s eyes when they talk to me about wanting to travel. The grass is greener on the other side, but you have to keep moving to a new side. No matter where I go, there I still am.
Going west, I discovered new facets of myself. Returning east, I began the life long adventure of loving, caring, and enjoying myself.
In the end, the only way to travel is being free of expecting or wanting any particular experience.
Photo is from Oregon Coast, the beaches are quite different from the East Coast
I had a lot of difficulty writing this piece. It took two years to finally publish something. What kicked me in the pants was reading this story. It gave me a framework, a perspective to accept and appreciate my westward journey. I like his line, “You don’t get over the fear. You run towards it, with your knees buckling.”
My intention is to write several stories from those three months. Meeting post-modern Buddhist Geeks. Falling in love. Discovering how boring Las Vegas poker can be. Breaking into tears in a Home Depot. And so on. Then I can write some contemporary pieces about life in Boston. The meditation scene. Organizing a Dharma House. Doing a week long Mondo Retreat and more.