Week 1 in Mcleodganj, and the mornings begin at 5am:
Monks chanting
Dogs barking
Hazey sunrise
Coffee
Cars honking
But there are a few moments of silence in between, and for a bit it is just me and the misty mountains.
Navigating Life's Little Contradictions
by Jess Filed Under: India, Travels Leave a Comment
Week 1 in Mcleodganj, and the mornings begin at 5am:
Monks chanting
Dogs barking
Hazey sunrise
Coffee
Cars honking
But there are a few moments of silence in between, and for a bit it is just me and the misty mountains.
by Jess Filed Under: India, Travels Leave a Comment
Like any one who has ever gone on a trip to India, my first few days were unexpected. I think that’s how it goes. In the weeks leading up to my trip, people kept telling me to prepare, but I wasn’t really sure how. Now I’m starting to realize that maybe preparation isn’t that possible. Because whatever you’re expecting it to be, it becomes something else entirely.
I can’t really articulate what I was expecting Delhi to be, except to say maybe something a bit more severe. The heat was hot (I got heat rash all over my back the first day), the smells interesting, but not too awful. The people were really nice (even if the men are super awkward). A little bit of LA in the traffic, a bit of Rabat in the traffic laws. Some Mexico City. And also a bit of something completely different.
We took the overnight train to Mcleodganj. Crammed into a sleeper cabin with a family of 6, including 2 very small yet very loud children who kept screaming “mammmaaa! panniiiii!” (mom! water!) every few minutes. It was cute for the first hour (no, it wasn’t).
As I climbed into the bunk precariously dangling from the ceiling,crawled into my sleep sack, pulled on my headphones and played some music from my friends’ band, I couldn’t help but smile: I am happiest in transit. All the nerves and anxiety that I’ve been feeling for the past few years just melt away. There’s a sense of peace that comes with just doing, not over-thinking and certainly not worrying about what others think. The worries come from others– they are not native to me. They only come when I stay still for too long.
The kids in the bunk below me shout “Gooooodniiiight!” and the cabin goes dark. This is uncomfortable and sticky and loud. It is unknown and unfamiliar. It is a little strange and a little beautiful. It is how I like it.
by Jess Filed Under: Thoughts Leave a Comment
“So without a second thought, Laronne stuffed into the box of Rachel’s belongings the newspaper article. It was something Laronne owed Nella—she could give a mother back to her girl.” – from The Girl Who Fell From the Sky by Heidi Durrow
We paused after reading this line. A crucial piece of evidence had been stuffed into an unconscious little girl’s box of belongings. I asked the group what they thought about it. What did she mean by “give a mother back to her girl?” What does that have to do with the newspaper clipping that would reveal the truth about what happened to her family?
These are the typical questions that come up at a book club. But this is no typical group. I’ve been a facilitator with Reading Opens Minds for just over a year now. We bring book clubs to underserved communities, with the aim of fostering self-reflection, connection, and of course, literacy.
I’ve long been interested in delving into deeper existential issues with this group. Making sure people are engaged and that personal triggers are respected, makes navigating conversations like these a little bit tricky. But I’ve consistently been surprised and humbled at the depth and integrity of conversations I’ve had with the women I’ve encountered through Reading Opens Minds, and I decided it would be a good time to explore some thought provoking questions about what it means to be human, and what it means to be alive.
Members of the group began to open up with their personal experiences and beliefs about reality and memory. After a bit of discussion, one of the women turned the question back onto me. What did I think it meant?
I lead my answer with an indisputable and slightly embarrassing fact about myself: My memory is terrible. I’m not sure why it is, but I’ve come to learn that memories are typically created by repeating a story over and over again until it becomes “real.” But in that repetition, things get changed. Details get embellished. Characters become polarized and simplistic. It stops being the “story of how things happen”, and becomes the “story of who we are.”
When I was younger, a virus attacked my brain, leaving me unable to control my fine motor skills, like walking or communicating. I don’t remember very much about it except for what my parents have told me. I used to get emotional about it whenever I told the story to others—each telling of the story became more elaborate and dramatic than the last. But lately I’ve begun to realize that a lot of the emotion I feel about the situation was placed upon it after the fact. Yes, I was probably confused and frustrated while it was happening. But mostly, I was dealing with it as best as I could, and I’ve recovered quite well. I’ve begun to recognize that many of the feelings I’ve associated with that event were retroactively placed onto it by other people and their expectations of my feelings about the situation.
Because of my experiences, the process of memory construction and recall has been of particular interest to me, and I studied it in college for a time. Memory isn’t exact. We don’t have an automatic perfect recall of experiences. Our memories are shaped by lots of different things: time, emotions, the things we’re told, the trauma induced by the situation. You can actually alter your memories—or have them altered for you.
The women mostly nodded in agreement. One woman began shifting uncomfortably in her chair, but didn’t say anything at first. I asked her if she’d like to share, and what she told me was incredible.
As a young woman, she overdosed on drugs and consequentially lost most of her memory, and also her capacity to create new memories. Much of recollection of her life since has been constructed through pictures and stories that other people have told to her. Reading books is difficult for her, she explained, because she struggles to piece sections of the plot together, but she enjoys the discussion, and wanted to participate today because she had never met someone who had a similar perception of memory and reality.
Other women began chiming in with their own personal stories about memory, reality, and consciousness. There were stories of trauma and abuse, struggle and suffering, recovery and progress. Stories that demonstrated growth and reflection, and an experiential understanding of the fickle nature of memory and reality.
When I first started volunteering with Reading Opens Minds over a year ago, someone told me that she didn’t believe certain groups of people were able to discuss or relate to one another on such deep levels. At the time, I almost believed her. Their lives are filled with stressors I can’t even fathom. When life is such a struggle, who has time to discuss a piece of fiction? When you take that view, though, it’s very easy to fall into to the popular notion of a social hierarchy—that some people are capable of certain things, while others are not. Some people are “good” while others “commit crimes.”
That day that theory was completely disproven. I sat back in my chair, watched and listened, completely in awe of how the room transformed. How they saw pieces of themselves reflected back at them through the struggle of the little girl in the book. How the barriers between each of us began to melt away. It didn’t even matter what happened or where we all came from. We awoke to the fact that our lives are simply made up of the stories we tell, and every passing second is a chance to turn it all around. We were taking a moment to explore the shared reality of what it means to be human together, and it was beautiful.
by Jess Filed Under: Foods Leave a Comment
People say there are no seasons in Southern California. And while the sun may be shining 360 days out of the year, there are still those evenings that get a bit chilly. When that happens, I like to break out some comforting food, to help me keep warm and my belly full. This simple roasted eggplant pasta recipe often does the trick.
I’ve never been a huge fan of heavy tomato based sauces. To me, having a simple oil and garlic based sauce, with just the right amount of spices and a variety of flavorful roasted vegetables is way more appetizing (not to mention authentic). For this recipe I used eggplant because it was available at the co-op, but you could even use zucchini or any other type of squash. Play around with what’s in season and available!
This is a very simple and satisfying recipe that doesn’t take much effort to prepare– just throw veggies in the oven and put on top of pasta!
Serves approximately 2 people
Step 1: Preheat the oven to 350F. Chop the eggplant and tomatoes into rounds. Chop the kale into thick slices. I eat the stems, but some people prefer not to.
Step 2: Over medium heat, gently sauté the garlic in the 2 tablespoons of oil, taking care not to burn it!
Step 3: Place the chopped vegetables in a lightly oiled large baking dish, trying not to overlap if possible. I like to grease the baking dish with coconut oil, because it’s got a high smoke point, and adds a light flavor to the veggies. Canola oil will also work.
Step 4: Pour the garlic and olive oil over the veggies, coating each as much as possible. You don’t want to drown them in oil (they will get crispy if you do), but you do want a little moisture on each one. Add a little extra olive oil if you need to.
Step 5: Sprinkle the chopped vegetables with garlic powder, salt, chopped/dried basil, thyme, rosemary, and cracked black pepper.
Step 6: Bake for about 1 hour, or until eggplant is tender and starting to brown.
Step 7: Toward the end of the baking time, boil 2 quarts of water with 2 tablespoons of salt. Once the water is at a nice, rolling boil, add in 1/2 lb of pasta. and cook until al dente. Drain the pasta and add a bit of oil, so it doesn’t stick.
Step 8: Once the eggplant looks done, and the tomatoes are nice and crinkly, gently scoop out the veggies and herbs and place on top of the pasta.
Serve immediately with crusty bread!
by Jess Filed Under: Thoughts Leave a Comment
A few years back, my roommate read my tarot cards. I don’t really believe in stuff like that, but at the time it seemed like an interesting idea. And while I don’t really recall the details of what he showed me, I do remember the overall message: in this life, my biggest challenge is to continue being brave.
My early 20s were filled with so many adventures that it was hard for me to take a challenge like that seriously. Continue being brave? This girl? Not a problem.
But as I get older, I start to notice an interesting trend. There really is something holding me back. There’s a voice in my head that seems to shout every time I approach a situation that requires bravery. These days, being brave requires overcoming a vast amount of fear and self-doubt that seems to get bigger over time. When I examine the fear in my own life, these are the thoughts that come up:
“You’re not capable of doing that”
“You’re not naturally smart/charismatic/talented”
“You’re too old.”
“You’re too young.”
“You don’t have enough experience.”
“You’re not safe.”
“You’re going to run out of money.”
“No one will ever really love you.”
I walk around with these fears on repeat inside my head. All day. Every day. Lurking just below the surface. They impact what I do, how I treat others, how I present myself. This, my friends, is Hell. And we’re all living in it; the Hell of our own creation. (More on that later.)
When I allow them to arise, instead of chasing them away or wallowing in them, I examine where they come from. The vast majority of these fears come from things that other people have said to me.
Fear can be a good thing. It keeps us on our toes, motivating us to behave with common sense. Sometimes we’re not afraid when we should be, and that’s when feedback from others really comes in handy. Sometimes, the feedback is useful stuff, like “You can’t fly, so don’t jump off the roof.” or “You’ll burn your hand if you touch the stove.”
But a lot of the fear-inducing feedback, the really personal criticism that tells us whether or not we are actually capable human beings is actually a reflection of how they view themselves. They may be saying “you’ll never succeed,” or that “you’re unloveable,” but they’re simply verbalizing the fears that they tell themselves. They’re afraid that they’d never succeed in that situation, or that they’re unloveable. And likely, this is also a reflection of something they heard someone say to them, and so on and so on.
There are many types of fear. And these fears can sometimes manifest as other emotions. Fear of losing control of the future can translate to stress. Fear of something you love being at risk of harm can turn into anger. Fear of being overlooked or forgotten can manifest as jealousy. And again, while we may have our own negative emotions to deal with, sometimes we unknowingly take on the emotions of those around us.
Sometimes taking on the stress of others may seem like an act of love. And sometimes, it can be. The Tibetan Buddhists have a beautiful practice called Tonglen, where they actually open themselves to absorb the suffering of those around them. But such a practice has to be done carefully and skillfully, otherwise it can be toxic to all those involved. It is important to learn how to protect ourselves and to really distinguish our own emotions from others.
Even Buddhas have to deal with the unwanted emotions of others. Someone once told me a great story about how Gotama Buddha dealt with this exact situation. Who knows if it’s true or not– that’s not really the point. It goes something like this:
There was a man who was easily angered, and who liked to provoke others. When he heard that the Buddha did not get angry with anyone he immediately decided to visit him. He went up to the Buddha and scolded him for all sorts of things, insulting him and calling him awful names.
At the end of this angry speech, the Buddha asked this man if he had any friends or relatives.
“Yes,” said the angry man.
“When you visit them, do you take them gifts?” the Buddha asked.
“Of course, I always bring them gifts,” the angry man replied.
“And what happens if they don’t accept your gifts?” The Buddha asked.
“Well I take them home and enjoy them myself”
“My friend,” said the Buddha, “You have brought me a gift here today that I do not accept, and so you may take that gift home with you.”
So how to continue being brave in the face of all these factors? Bravery isn’t something that comes easy to a lot of people. In fact, I’m starting to realize that being brave isn’t all that natural for me. Like anything worthwhile, it takes practice. It takes contemplation and direct action.
Much like paddling into the break after getting knocked off a surfboard, bravery can be practiced by running toward the fear itself. Practicing bravery means surrendering ideas of control and security, and stepping into the unknown. Most of all, being brave means trusting in ourselves, in our own ability to be competent, capable, and good.
For me personally, being brave almost always involves reminding myself that life isn’t about perfection. It’s not always about well-timed plans or neatly scheduled itineraries. It’s not about getting the ideal job or having a wedding worthy of Pinterest. Life isn’t even about fulfilling my parent’s expectations or constantly pleasing those around me to the detriment of my autonomy.
It’s about living within my own moral code, being measured against my own standards of success, and no one else’s. It’s about remembering that the best experiences are often the half-baked and fleeting ones, spearheaded by nothing more than creative intuition and guts.
Here’s to being brave.
May you remember what being brave means to you.