Let's Go Home

I closed my eyes and nothing happened. Try meditating, they said. So here I am, sitting in lotus position. I’m thinking about the weather, about how my nose itches. I’m thinking about how I’m overthinking, and not good at this at all. I don’t see anything or sense anything different; it just feels like I’m floating in a grey box, unanchored. Why does everyone always gush about meditating like it’s some zen ecstasy? I’m just here biting my nails, I’m agitated.

Later, one of my Tibetan books kindly suggests imagining your thoughts becoming bubbles, and then watching them float away. I try this. It feels better, more practical. I start pretending I’m sitting on the edge of a river, watching my thoughts drift further into the distance. Dumb thoughts, anxious thoughts. It gets easier. Soon after, I close my eyes and - oh! I’m at the river. My imagination starts filling in the canvas: the smell of damp pine trees, the golden rays of sunshine. I stopped taking it so seriously. I started waving bye to my stupid thoughts, saying things like “goodbye you little shit, forever!”

In spiritual circles, there is a name for this. It’s called your “power place.” This is where you go to power up, where you start and end every journey. From here, you travel to far away lands, meet with your ancestors. All kinds of far out, mind-bending stuff. And it all happens in a place that you create, that rests somewhere between your imagination and an unseen world. This is the home that reminds you of your great wisdom. This is the home you can return to, anytime, anywhere. That you carry with you, inside.

Ah, home.

As a kid, we moved around. A lot. Not just like from one house to another: I swapped countries, traversed worlds. I grew up in the sleepy suburbs of Illinois. I spent my days running through sprinklers, my nights telling ghost stories around campfires and chasing fireflies. When I was 12 my parents told me over dinner that we were leaving; dad got a big new job and we were moving to Hong Kong. I was in disbelief. I’d just finished sixth grade. I’d never even had my first kiss; there was so much left to do! What about Tiger, my childhood cat, we can bring her, right? I sobbed, hot tears on my cheeks. I wrote in my diary that I hated my parents, how could they do this to me? Before we headed to the airport, I said goodbye to each room in the house, touching all the door knobs. I was holding on, processing, grieving over these vanishing roots.

When we landed in Hong Kong, I went straight to a special room near baggage claim to get Tiger. She was shaking from being in cargo for 14 hours. I stuck my hands through the little holes in her cage, petting her cold fur, telling her everything was going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay. She smelled like airplane, it took her days to start eating again. For the first month, we stayed in a company-paid 5-star Hilton hotel in Central. I ate a lot of room service and became friends with the bellmen. Nothing - and I mean absolutely nothing was normal again. Hong Kong was skyscrapers, street noodles, neon lights, and tropical storms. I wasn’t a kid anymore; I was riding on the MTR by myself, hanging out in fancy shopping malls, and wearing CK One. By the time new roots were formed, I was 15 and we were moving again. This time, I was going to finish high school in Mainland China, in Beijing.

The movers were here. It was time to go. I asked my dad if he ever missed the States, or if he’d miss Hong Kong. “No, I never miss anything,” he said matter-of-factly. Maybe I wanted a different answer, something warmer and softer? But that was the answer. He was teaching me how to be a nomad, how to be an emotional shapeshifter. Living in a foreign country, albeit one that is your ancestral home, makes you feel deeply connected and like a total loser all at once. You are Chinese but you are not Chinese enough. You belong and you don’t. You are one of us and we pretend you don't exist.

Ice cold.

Well. I’ve decided that if home can’t be a physical place or even a cultural one, then it can be a feeling. It’s right here, in your heart. It’s your feet sliding into a pair of well-worn slippers on a snowy day. It’s opening up your leather bound journal, and seeing the past handwriting and its moods (stressed, impatient, kind) all jammed together in one place. It’s the warmth of your daughter’s hand in yours, your son doing math in his head, displaying his casual brilliance. It’s the soup simmering on the stove, coyly revealing the sweetness of carrot and daikon, coaxed out of their marrow.

More importantly, it is a state of mind. You are home when you are yourself. You are home when you stop lying to yourself about all the fake, stupid things that are supposed to make you happy - but actually leave you bored. Do you read a job description and want to die? Then no, don’t apply to that job. Did a recruiter reach out to you, and you get a low key sketchy vibe? Run away. Are you just feeling so, so tired? Take a break. Find your best Earl Grey, brew yourself a big, warm cup of tea and find some kind of chocolatey/biscuity thing to go with it. Take a bite. And another. Who ate my cookie? Oh, I did. I ate it all.

It is really easy to make this all about your external circumstances. Do they like me? Am I good enough? Am I smart enough? Yes, no, maybe, we’ll never know! Instead, ask yourself the hard questions: do I like them? Do they see me? Do I give a crap about what they are doing, or what they make? We’ve all been brainwashed to think that other people hold the power. No, it’s you, my love…it’s always been you. The game is you, and you’re keeping score, and you’re making the rules. Going home is you, spending seven hours collecting firewood from a Twilight-esque forest - then lighting a roaring, obnoxious fire around yourself - defending your precious (so precious!) energy and your best hours of the day.

My new rules of the game? I say yes to the things that excite me, are created by me, and will contribute to my future - not someone else’s. Say yes to the things and the people that hype me up, bring me energy, and that seem fun. Say no (a hard, fast, and immediate no) to the things that … you just don’t want to do. Other people will survive; they'll find other people to do those things for them; it does not have to be you.

I’m reaching my fingers into your cage, I'm petting your fur. It’s going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay.

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PS. If you'd like to connect with some beautiful and brilliant minds, I wholeheartedly invite you to join my monthly Healing Sessions for $18 (you can RSVP here). Sessions are limited to 10 people. The next one is on December 18, 2020.

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