Going my own Way

(Photo taken by me, near the Arboretum, Sept. 2011)

For my senior year high school English class, students were required to pick a novel of their choice and then write an analysis paper about it. While I can't recall the various book selections we were given as examples to choose from, I do remember thinking that I did not want to choose a book that everyone else would pick or one that I knew too much about....though if you asked me at the time, I doubt I'd be able to articulate why. As I scanned the page, few options stood out in my mind. Or rather one in particular. My eyes curiously wandered to Herman Hesse's "Siddhartha." "What is this about?" I thought. And so began my discovery of Buddhism and more so, the beginning of my own self-discovery.

I suppose I had started going my own way prior to reading "Siddhartha" senior year, though it wasn't until that moment that it was brought to my awareness that my path in life has always been different than 'everyone else.' And for the first time I realized this was a good thing. It comforted me, inspired me, and pushed me forward. Suddenly being different and apart from the crowd was a strength, a sign of growth and the embodiment of genuine enlightenment.Western religion has never done that for me. Ever.

When times get tough and the road feels lonely, I find myself going back to Eastern philosophy time and again. Buddhism. The Tao Te Ching. The works of the spiritual mystic Osho. The wisdom, compassion, and non-judgmental encouragement of finding one's own way pours into me and through me. The paradox is actually quite hilarious when I think about it, at least for me. So many fearful people blindly following a religious path that really isn't their own, just words of everyone else because...it's easier?! But it's not. The same individuals are fearful of having their own unique perceptions and feelings, especially what choices to make with them. The last thing they want to do is think about them, yet going your own Way is the first step on the path to understanding, freedom, and growth.

Recently, a friend of mine kindly and unexpectedly mailed a book to me. "Path of Compassion: Stories from the Buddha's Life." I'm slowly savoring each chapter like a child comforted by nightly bedtime stories. I feel both alone and not alone reading the courageous journey of Siddhartha, boldly embracing the judgments of loved ones and strangers alike. Most of all, I'm comforted and inspired by his letting go of external pressures of what they want him to say or do (ie, their own agenda) in favor of going his own way...not only for himself, but also for the greater good.

And with this, I am reminded (again) to continue...going my own way.

Lonely and Alone

My mom and I arrived in Chicago one late night in December 2001, a few days shy of my 24th birthday. I was struck by the lights that shimmered from the high rise buildings as we rounded the bend of Lakeshore Drive towards the Belmont Ave exit. Bitter cold, one's breath was visible with even the most minute exhale. After deciding on a studio apartment at 432 W. Belmont, we quickly unloaded my meager belongings. Mom helped with the process of unpacking and making apartment 304 resemble that of a cozy "home." We crossed things off our to-do list as we hopped on and off Chicago's buses and trains, which was a totally new experience for both of us. I remember being worried that if we didn't step on and off of the "el" platform quickly enough, the automatic doors would close in on us. I had never been on a subway train before.

On my birthday, Mom and I laughed about the drama that ensued between a cab driver and passenger as we ordered our popcorn before "Vanilla Sky." Bundled up in our coats, hats, scarves, and gloves, we sought refuge in my apartment and the heat that steamed from the old metallic radiator underneath my window.

Christmas was strange that year because it was just the two of us, but mom didn't want me to be alone. Neither did I. A big part of me wondered how I was going to manage this whole 'alone in the big city' venture I had boldly decided to undertake, as I was afraid to be alone. What if someone breaks into my apartment or robs me on the street? What if I get lost and end up in a bad neighborhood of the city? What if no one wants to talk to me or get to know me? I'm all by myself. What will I do? These were the anxious thoughts that ran through my mind. Yet when I waved goodbye to my mother as she stepped onto a bus the day after Christmas, I thought about times I have been alone.

I am the only product of what came of my mom and dad's marriage. My parents divorced before I could even form a memory of having seen them together. I have no recollection of them as a couple. It has always been Mom or Dad, not Mom AND Dad. As young as seven years old, I had boarded more Delta, American, Southwest and Northwest airlines by myself than any other kid I knew. Traveling from the northeast to hot and humid Tampa, Florida every summer, I would gaze out the window, read a book during flights, and chat with friendly neighbors on the plane. I impatiently awaited the long, dreadful layovers in big cities like Atlanta and New York City, but being served peanuts in a shiny airline package more than made up for it.

Bouncing from Chesapeake, Virginia to Panama City, Florida, to Kingwood, Texas over the span of four years, I had become almost a natural at the role of "the new kid in town." What if I get lost in the halls of the cavernous school? What if my classmates think I'm weird or not cool enough? What if I don't make any friends? What if I miss the bus?

I remember frequently feeling like I was always alone, even when I was surrounded by other people (including family). Sometimes I would stare out the second floor bedroom window of our home in Kingwood with tears welling up in my eyes, wondering when I wouldn't feel so alone anymore. .....Or was it lonely?

Perhaps what I was really afraid of that first night all by myself in the Windy City was not of being alone, but of being lonely. I had spent a majority of my childhood feeling lonely, but my twenty-four year old adventurous spirit was allowing me a powerful opportunity: I could be a strong, independent adult, alone without being lonely.

There's lonely and then there's alone. Chicago taught me there is a difference between the two.