May 12, 2021
When you feel you’re alone.
Cut off from this cruel world.
Your instincts telling you to run.
Listen to your heart.
Those angel voices,
they’ll sing to you.
They’ll be your guide,
back home
When life leaves us blind,
Love keeps us kind.
-Linkin Park
Winter
In the bone-chill cold of Michigan’s winter season, I ran and ran and ran, believing each step forward would bring me closer to where I needed to go. At the ripe age of my late 20’s, I was going through a quarter-life crisis. My aspirations for academia cracking at the seams, burnt-out from years of over-working, put off by the publish-or-perish culture of academia, and fear that the fruits of my labor would spoil on top the ivory tower.
Up to that point, academia had given me direction and order to my life. I worked tirelessly during graduate school, building my resume, developing my teaching and research skills, and even figuring out how to play the academic “game.” But doubt grew into an existential crisis, questioning whether my work had any real or meaningful impact on others, the reason I entered this field in the first place. Rather than spam journals with publications, which primarily served to boost my resume, and specifically my ego, I became disillusioned with the process.
And it was during my post-doc year in Michigan, my body, mind, and spirit no longer cooperated. Ambition turned into procrastination, getting work done more out of obligation than from a place of passion. Depression overtook me, laying waste to the life I had built. I felt lost and directionless. With no job secured after my post-doc, fear and anxiety tormented me with dreadful fantasies, accompanied by the cruelties of self-judgment and criticalness. The bottle only went so far to numb the pain, and of course, made things worse. The loneliness was suffocating.
The idea of giving up on academia percolated my mind, growing more frequent and stronger by the day. I began to face the reality that the current path I had invested so much in may not be for me. This brought upon grief in letting go of my aspirations and wishful fantasies; guilt and disappointment over leaving work unfinished; and a fear of an uncertain future.
Not knowing where I was going, I approached life one step at a time. I listened to my body’s impulse to run, and run I did. Several miles a day in a freezing cold that woke my body and forced me to be strong. I got into the best shape of my life. Yet, for each step forward, it felt like I was running towards to an abyss that felt both scary and liberating.
Music was a constant companion on my runs. An album that meant a lot to me during this time was “A Thousand Suns” by Linkin Park. I recall the first time I heard Chester Bennington sing the lyrics, “’When life leaves us blind, love keeps us kind,” I felt a deep well of emotion spring up within me. The song mirrored my pain, helping me feel understood and less alone. Its message of love and kindness gave me hope and clarity. My emotions energized my body in a very visceral way, allowing me to withstand the cold and run with vigor.
Even though my future uncertain, there was no doubt that love and kindness would remain central values throughout my life. I placed these words wherever visible to remind myself of what is truly important. “Love keeps us kind” became my North Star, and reoriented my life from achievements to one lead by the heart.
Spring
Life has a way of sending the right people at the right time when we need them. Sometime these people may come in unexpected ways, including people that may appear distant, or even annoy or frustrate you at first, but after getting to know them, you realize that they are also humans struggling just like you. They enter our lives for a reason, and it is up to us to allow them into our hearts.
These strangers who became my friends would check in on me, invited me to things, provided me support and encouragement, and guided me back “home” to a place of belonging, safety and love. I learned through experience that home is not tied to a physical place or time, but can be found anywhere, with others and within ourselves. Letting go of any false pretenses allowed me to feel comfortable in my own skin. And learning to enjoy my own company opened up so many possibilities.
And from this secure base, I aimed to overcome anxieties that had deprived me of enriching relationships and experiences in the past. Due to the combination of being in a new place and feeling desperate for connection, I felt less tied down by old patterns. I saw an opportunity to re-invent myself, and to this end, took on an attitude of “going towards my fear as long as it doesn’t harm anyone.”
I ventured outside my comfort zone and engaged in meaningful experiences, such as connecting with nature, going on road trips to parts unknown, discovering new cultures and foods, getting to know my neighbors and befriending strangers, attending community events, finding inspiration through art and music, seeing a therapist and joining alcoholics anonymous, getting my first tattoo, meeting with a psychic and having my tarot cards read, and even falling in love.
These experiences made me feel alive and whole. Previously, my life in graduate school was primarily limited to waking up, going to work, and coming back home to work some more. All work and no play had made me a dull boy. But these experiences made me realize that this world is a big place with so many interesting people and different ways to engage life.
Around this time, a childhood friend and I took a trip to Chicago. The final day of that trip was raining hard and very windy. We drove along Lake Michigan on our way back. Spontaneously, I pulled over noticing a long, concrete jetty protruding out to what seemed more like an ocean than a lake. Defying common sense, a force within me compelled me onto the jetty. Drenched in rain, I inched my way to the end, carefully moving pole to pole when the waves died down, and holding on tightly when the waves crashed down, to keep me from slipping and blowing away. When I reached the end, I wrapped my body around one of the poles, and went head-to-head with what felt like a “Wind Dragon.” At the top of my lungs, I screamed and cried my heart out, letting go of my sadness and frustrations, releasing my fears and grief. The rain washed away my tears, and the loud howl of the wind carried my screams away. The experience was exhilarating.
Something in me died in that moment, and a new version of myself emerged. I felt alive and free. I realized that the true purpose of my journey to the Mid-West was not career but spiritual. I had to leave home to let go of a huge burden that I had been carrying for too long, so I can move on with life. With this purpose fulfilled, I was ready to return home.
Summer
My “extra-curricular” activities was a counterforce to the workaholic tendencies of my old self. I no longer consented to slaving away day and night to meet unrealistically high expectations, often set by myself. With a “good enough” mindset, I set boundaries and stood my ground. This undoubtedly burned bridges but there was a part of me that wanted these bridges to be burnt, so I wouldn’t be tempted to return back. I was at peace with letting go of a path that had stolen away my soul.
In addition, I underwent a process of letting go of emotional baggage that had been weighing me down. Throughout graduate school, I was madly in love with my best friend, but this love was unrequited. This friend came to visit me during my final weeks in Michigan. We had an amazing time, but old patterns of fighting and hurting each other re-emerged. Despite the passage of time, our dynamics were largely the same. I had to let go of the false hopes, wishful fantasies, and expectations of this relationship ever happening. Parallel to only packing the essentials that fit in my car for the drive home, I let go of excess baggage that was not needed for the journey forward. This included letting go of a love that had consumed me for so many years but left me unfulfilled.
My last night at Michigan was special. My neighbor invited me to dinner with his family who were refugees from Bhutan, fleeing first to Nepal and then immigrating to the States. The dinner consisted of a full spread of colorful dishes, rice, yogurt, vegetables, curries, a chicken main dish, and special tea that tasted heavenly. The aroma was intoxicating and the complex spices enticed my taste buds. As we broke bread, they shared their stories of joy, sadness, and trauma. Despite their incredible losses, I was in awe by their resiliency, and humbled by their abundance of love and kindness.
As dinner wrapped up and conversation faded, they insisted I stay a bit longer for a traditional ceremony. A member of the family sat me down and painted a solid circle on my forehead, using rice to give some texture and a red dye for coloring. The family proceeded to offer me blessings on my trip forward in life. I felt so grateful, and indebted to their kindness. The next morning, I drove home with a feeling of warmth, peace, and closure in my heart.
Fall
Sitting across a client baring her soul to me, I felt the familiar feelings of nervousness and insecurity around my ability to help her. Despite everything I had gone through, I still felt small in my new role as a therapist. I felt the pull to impress her with my academic knowledge and offer solutions to feel like I had something to give, but I realized that this was more for me and less for the client.
I took pause and a breath, and with intention, leaned into her pain. I reminded myself that the pain had a purpose, and I needed to trust the process. I leaned into my own insecurities and allowed myself to be humbled. I got comfortable admitting I didn’t know things. I relied less on the safety of my book learning, and attuned myself to the client, realizing that the key to her healing resided within her. Additionally, I became a student again, relearning the basics as I studied for licensure. I was starting over again with a beginner’s mind.
During this time period, I went on a mountain hike and stopped to take a break. I admired the view that overlooked the path I had just taken. I looked back on my journey. Starting with the hiking trail, I went backwards as if pressing the rewind button…my adjustment to a new job, my Michigan experience, and even further backwards, all the way to memories of my childhood home. I recalled special experiences and relationships. I laughed and cried in equal measure to both the joyful and difficult memories.
As I reflected on my life as a whole, I realized that the pattern of life is not a straight line but a circle. For so many years, I had approached life as if it was a straight line, going from point A to point B, keeping things predictable and within control. Yet, so much of life is out of our control, with twists and turns, and messy vicissitudes that throw wrenches at our plans, “Man plans, God laughs.”
Just like the seasons, the flow of life is cyclical. Life is a series of starting over, falling and getting back up. Failure and loss are a natural part of this process that we must go through. Ego gets inflated, and then beaten down and humbled. We form inseparable bonds with loved ones who eventually we have to say good bye to, bringing a period of grief and mourning. Uncertainties precede change, bringing self-doubts, insecurities, and fears. Even depression, like a cocoon state for a butterfly, has us turn inward to resolve our inner demons before the metamorphosis can take place.
I realized my ego was getting in the way of living more fully and deeply. Despite the ego’s good intentions of protecting me from feelings of unworthiness and shame, it can over-protect, keeping me from taking risks and going outside my comfort zone. The ego had me worry about what other people thought of me, leading me to compromise parts of myself to gain approval and hide parts that didn’t fit with others’ expectations. The ego always had me seeking more, more accolades, more praise, more esteem, as if I wasn’t enough.
Like the Jungian metaphor that the ego is like a boat floating on the vast ocean of our unconscious, I realized the ego is small part of my overall sense of self. The ego has a function, but beyond that, it over-steps and can make life small and restrictive. To let go of my ego, I surrendered myself to a higher spiritual power. I prayed every morning for God to use me and work through me. With this intention, I noticed words flow from my heart, as well as insights and perspectives arise in my mind that came from a deeper part of my soul. I started developing an intuitive feel for therapy.
Lastly, I realized that life is in service of the soul, not the ego. When life no longer nourishes, the soul can leave us, taking away our passions and creativity, leaving devastation in its absence, as if to remind us who is really in charge. I realized that the soul must go through its cycles of pain and suffering, as well as joy and peace, to grow and evolve. And with each iteration, we mature and grow a bit wiser and bolder. We develop bonds, strangers become friends. Our world expands, and life becomes more interesting. We find home in unexpected places. We let go of what we have been holding, and feel lighter. We heal from love and kindness, and move on.
Posted May 12, 2021 by Y. Sue Park. This essay is dedicated to the memory and spirit of Chester Bennington. You are my angel’s voice.