Alana's Dharma Blog

From as early as I could remember, my parents, my teachers, my community, were all training me, grooming me for a job. The particular job didn’t really matter so much, but it had to be something white collar, managerial/officey. In the upper middle class Jewish community I grew-up in, doctors, lawyers, accountants were first choices, but, being the do-gooder I was, my gig as a nonprofit fundraiser was perfectly acceptable. The main point is, in my community, in my mind, productive members of society had jobs. Certain jobs were more valuable than others, no job at all was just lazy and useless.

But as I considered a move to Chicago, I also considered getting a new job and it dawned-on me, I wanted a break. My husband and I didn’t really need the money from my salary, and I wanted time to pursue other interests. But, what kind of bum doesn’t have a job? What kind of woman lets her husband support her? Oy the feminists were going to come after me with pitchforks…

I was so embarrassed to even thinking about a break, afraid that saying it out loud would cause everyone to stop, stare and judge. I even though…hum, if I could not have a job, but lie about it somehow so no one knew would that work? Yup in my mind that evoked concern over  being a liar, but not being seen as a useless bum. So here was the issue –1)  I was afraid of what everyone would think of me if I didn’t have a job. 2) More deeply, I was afraid that everyone shared my judgement (wrong view) that people with jobs are more valuable and that if I didn’t have one then I am less valuable. 3) If everyone thought that, then it must be true..a jobless alana was less valuable, had less status, than a gainfully employed alana. Maybe if I was a secret bum I could live with my diminished value, but no way could I live with everyone seeing me as a failure.

LP Nut sent me off with a little homework on this topic: How does what people say/think of me affect my value?

1. Does what folks think about me determine my value? What about when one person’s opinion changes? Or they have conflicting opinions?  When I was a kid I had a love hate/relationship with my nextdoor neighbor. Sometimes we were friends and other times enemies…did my value, or his, change by the fight? Now that we are adults and friends, does it erase all the times I thought him a menace? I have done work that my boss thinks is extremely valuable to the company, but also made mistakes that cost us money so which is it–am I a valuable employee or someone who destroys company value? One time, a friend, high on drugs, thought I had betrayed her. When she sobered-up she realized she had hallucinated the whole thing –was I a bad friend while she was hallucinating and a good one when she sobered? Does it matter I wasn’t even there for the whole thing (it really was entirely in her imagination)? Could my friend’s beliefs alone make me a particular thing, a good friend/bad friend?
2. What is people’s perception of my value even based-on? Back when I was a kid there was a bully in my class who picked-on me so much. He wanted to be one of the popular kids and what better way then picking on an unpopular kid like me? Fast forward to high school, after I had “blossomed” and become a very pretty, very popular, girl. I ran into this same kid at the mall and suddenly he wanted my number, wanted to go on a date. Now he didn’t want someone to bully he wanted a girlfriend. My value to him changed based on his needs. My family and friends may look down on me when I quit my job, but what if someone gets sick and I am available to care for them, then my value to them would go up. I ultimately can’t control other people’s wants and needs, so there is in fact no way for me to control my value to them.
3. If the opinion of someone I deeply value changes/ends what happens to me and my value? Specifically, when my father was alive, he was my world. Almost everything I did, I did with his opinion of me in mind. Most of all, I cherished his love and valuing of me and I pained at the times I disappointed him.  When he died, did my value as a person end? Did it stop at the moment of his death? Or, as long as I stay within the framework of what I thought he valued, am I safe? Still valuable? And to whom?

Does everyone even agree with what is and isn’t valuable? Is it the same as what I think? Do I even think the same things are valuable across time and space?

I actually got started on this job contemplation when I mentioned to LP Nut I was considering a break from work. He nodded at me sagely and said, “you have had enough”, like it was a fine accomplishment.  LP Anan, who was sitting nearby chimed-in, he thinks a break is a great idea, more time for Dharma practice. My husband, sitting next to me also thought a break was good, more time for him. These people who I respect tremendously, clearly did not agree with me that a jobless alana was a worthless alana.  So why was it a belief I was clinging to?

The truth is that  job=value (or anything else=value) is just my standards, my judgements, shaped by my experiences and my imaginations of what having a particular job would actually look like. My Dad, who I already mentioned, was a huge force in shaping my worldviews, thought that work was valuable. It’s not surprising I ended-up with the same conclusion.  

But, I couldn’t even follow my own “rules” all the time. Did I veiw my father as less valuable when he retired (no of course not)? Would I stop loving my husband if he lost his job (again no)? One of the people in my life I feel great gratitude and love for was the housekeeper who helped take care of me when I was growing up — is she less valuable to me because her job is as a housekeeper not a Dr. lawyer or  accountant?  When I was in school I had no job, where was my value then?

On another topic, I used to think being a vegetarian was valuable, made me a good person. When I was a vegetarian, some folks agreed, some folks made fun of me or sighed at having to chose a restaurant that suited my needs. Now, I see the wrong views that imbued vegetarianism with a particular positive value and I see the negative consequences that came with it, to my health, to my relationships, to my ability to be flexible and have fewer conditions in my life (see blog The Buddhist who Loves Bacon).So did not eating meat/eating meat change my value?

If my own standards are variable, how can I live in fear that I won’t meet someone elses’, which may or may not be the same as mine, which may or may not be the same across time? I like to control how people perceive me in order to sway them, persuade them, get their love. But can I control their perception of me with a job? At all? If their value of me is based on their needs, their beliefs, how can I control my value to them without controlling their needs? Their hopes? Their imaginations? Thats impossible. So that brings us to the big question: Where exactly is my value? What exactly is it? Is it like gold stars and black frowny faces that sick on my heart? Do I just count how many of each I have to know if I’m good or bad?

While I was walking around, contemplating my value, I noticed dandelions on the road. I thought, they are beautiful, a splash of color, they made me smile. But, in a garden they are weeds, choking out the intended plants. So which are they beautiful flowers or pesky weeds? It depends on the situation, on who you ask, on if you are walking on a path or tilling your garden. I like to blow them when they dry and make a wish, but when I’m done, the stem is just trash, and I do hate when those little spores stick in my clothes. Even in a single moment then, those flowers have an upside and a downside,a wish and trash, a positive and negative value.

My own beliefs, my needs, my circumstances,  they determine the things I think are valuable. But these things are always changing, and my sense of valuable adjusts with them. My value can’t be pinned down, its not in a particular time or place. But my desire to name it, know it, control it causes me suffering. I think I have some value now, as an employee, as a contributing member of society, and with that comes the pressure to preserve and grow that value. How can I just throw it all way to become a lazy no good bum?

This contemplation served as the foundation for my considering the 8 Worldly Conditions. Stay tuned, that story is coming-up soon…

 

Flashlight: I lost my friggin flashlight. Again. Sooo annoyed. I put it outside in the sun to charge at the retreat center. Someone must have moved it. Or maybe I just forgot it somewhere. I go questing, find it on a table, ‘sweet my flashlight found!’ Darkness comes and I am prepared, I turn on my flashlight, but no light. Its broken, or it didn’t charge. Now I need to borrow a light…Ugh, fucking flashlight!

But wait…when l put that flashlight in the sun to charge, when I wanted it but couldn’t find it, when I counted on it, trusted it to get me through darkness, then it was MY flashlight. But when it failed me, when it was just a useless tool, then it was FUCKING flashlight. Hint hint Alana, there is a wrong view lurking here..

Had it ever really been my flashlight if it could become un-mine so fast? Un-mine in my head when I got annoyed. Un-mine if it were really lost.  Un-mine if I threw it away because it broke. Un-mine because it made me worry and look for it and blame others for its disappearance. Un-mine because do  really own things I don’t control.

And what else is un-mine? What else do I need to look more closely at, investigate, re-think, unclaim:

Wedding Ring: I lost it. I blamed a friend. I was so sad and hurt when it was gone. Worried it was a bad omen for my marriage. After it was gone I didn’t even want a new one, the loss of one un-mine ring made me worry about losing a second ring I hadn’t even gotten yet. And what if I saw it on someone else’s finger, now, years later —  would I take it back? Could it be mine? Would it even legally or socially be mine? Is it mine if it is someone else’s now?

Second Hand Clothes: I buy most of my clothes second hand, ebay, consignment shops, etc. So when exactly does it become mine? When I pick it up off the rack, when I pay, when I hang it in my closet? What if the old owner saw me wearing ‘their’ dress, wanted it back? I have found keys and wallets before and returned them, so were they mine when I found them but someone else’s when I gave them back? Is it mine if it was someone else’s before?

The Porsche: I didn’t even want the car, Eric chose it. How much suffering it causes when I need to take it to the shop, when I worry about dents and theft. I imagine the car gives me an identity, sleek, sexy, rich. But sometimes I worry it gives me the wrong identity, show off, inappropriate, impractical, driving husband’s fancy car. Is it mine if I share it? Is it mine if I am ambivalent about what it makes me?

My Dad: Dad has been dead for years. What does his being mine mean when he is not even here? What part of him is mine? Is something still mine after it is dead, gone?

The Goodwill Pile:  The bag of stuff in the garage just waiting for me to donate it, is that all mine? I don’t care if it is stolen, I don’t worry about it, I don’t fixate on any of those things.  Is something still mine when I don’t want it anymore?

My Stuffed Animals: Were my most precious belongings as a kid, I literally had hundreds of them. Each one I cared for, named, took turns playing with them and cuddling them. Now, as an adult, they are gone, or still at my Mom’s I don’t even know. I don’t care. They are worthless to me. But won’t this happen to everything? Shit I care about now, will be worthless to me later. So why the intermediate attachment, fixation, obsession? Is it mine when I don’t care about it anymore? When my love and desire for it is so momentary?

My Body: Is fat Alana mine when I value thin Alana? Is sick Alana mine when I want healthy Alana. Right now, when I am sick, fat, a part of me thinks that other thin, healthy Alana is more me. I’m just temporarily fat and sick Alana, on my way back to becoming real (thin and healthy) Alana. If I become terminally ill and my body doesn’t revert back to healthy Alana then will sick Alana be mine?  How can I even be more mine some of the time? Is mine based only on what I value, what I identify as?

So where is this mine? Is it like identity, value, is it in my head? Maybe in the minds of others? Is it constant and, if not, what does that mean?

I expect my objects to serve me. To make my life easier. To define my identity for myself and others. But what about all those times they make life more difficult? When they need fixing or finding or cleaning and care? What about when they don’t define me, as I want to be, when someone sees the clothes and thinks whore, the car and thinks excessive, the body and thinks fat?

Present Day Alana  looks around at her car, house, clothes, body, and not one of these things seems worth being enslaved. And yet, still, somehow, the whole kit-n-kaboodle of me and mine keeps driving me forward, ensnaring me in the trap of this world. I hope, I aspire, I dedicate the merit of this post, this blog, of my entire practice, of anything good I have ever done in my life to being free of me and mine.

In my life, I have moved around a lot. In the last 15 years I have lived in New Orleans, New York, Nashville, Atlanta, Houston and San Francisco. Six cities, 8 houses, you would think I would be a pro by now, that moving would be easy for someone like me. But the truth is, each move is torture. So much anxiety, such a deep sense of loss. When my husband started considering a job in Chicago, I started the old, familiar, pre-move panic. But this time around I had a tool I had not had in the past –the Dharma. So between all the wailing and gnashing of teeth, I began to consider what it was about an impending move that was so upsetting and to hunt down the wrong views that were causing me so much distress.

I started by considering past moves that had been particularly stressful. I tried to see if there was a common element — a house, a person, money, something that I worried about —  but, it was nothing so simple. Instead it boiled down to two main concepts:

1. Sense of belonging and identity in a place —
   1. When I went to college, I worked so hard to make friends, build an image, a reputation, for such a short time I was happy with what I had built, only to have to graduate and to let it go. I found myself severely depressed for the next 8 months.
   2.  I had actually never wanted to move to Texas, hated it when I arrived, but over my years there I built a connection with my Vajrayana religious community, when I left I was crushed and, in fact, almost returned after being in SF for less than 6 months.
   3. Here in SF I am enamoured with the idea of being an SF person, I have my job, my community, my day-to-day life all sorted-out. I don’t want to leave, this is my life, it is who I am…

Each place I have moved, I have felt like I belonged, like I was finally accepted, found a community, like I had become an Alana I always wanted to be. But, even with this thought, the lie begins to show through. Since being in SF my friends have changed, my neighborhood has changed, my religious community has changed, I have changed. If a city is about belonging, about being a certain Alana, how can these things have changed so radically while I have been here? Moreover, with each move, I retain many of the traits, relationships, sense of identity I built in the last place. If these things were so place dependent how can any of them survive a move?

       2)  Sense of stability, safety and predictability —

Which each move, I have been so devastated. Then, I proceed to fall in love with my new home as it become familiar to me. I  adjust, I adapt, my life takes on a certain pattern and in that pattern I see safety and  stability. The more I am able to settle into a routine, the more I feel I am in control, I can hedge against the scary, unexpected world that lies outside the structure I create –right up till my pattern is destroyed and its time to move again. The thing is, if New Orleans, or Texas or Atlanta or Tennessee had provided me with stability,  I would have never left.

My own experiences, my many moves, are evidence that a place, a routine, a community where I belong, simply can’t guarantee stability and predictability. Somehow though (despite 8 moves in 15 years) I think moving, loss of structure and control,  is an anomaly…

But, moving, changing, destabilizing are actually the nature of this world, they are woven into the fabric of my life. In fact, in many cases, these moves and changes are a consequence of my own choices, parts of tradeoffs I have made so I could get an education or stay married to an ambitious husband with a high powered job.

Moreover, when I really look back on all the things I didn’t want to lose, my friends in college, my Vajrayana community in Texas, my Dad in Atlanta — they aren’t even issues anymore. I wouldn’t want to hang out with most of my college friends now that I’m an adult, I don’t practice Vajrayana anymore and my Dad is long dead. So much suffering for stability that can’t be found, to preserve so many things that can’t be, that I wouldn’t really want to have, preserved….