Shared Experiences

Got together for lunch with a guy named John yesterday. He's 27, getting married in just weeks and then he and his new wife are going to grad school in the UK.

Like me he's American by birth but spent part of his early childhood in Asia; Hong Kong to be precise. Most Americans who've lived in Asia, seems to me, lived in Hong Kong. Only makes sense, of course, as it's where a lot of business people would go and everyone there speaks English.

Just as with my friend Joelle, John's experience was different from mine in that he came back to America not speaking a foreign language as much as having a British accent. He has two sisters who were also there so he's also been fortunate enough to have siblings to share in the experience.

Still, you don't need to speak the language to have the place affect you profoundly. John's studying Buddhism and told me about his studies of the faith and how his childhood played a significant role.

I told him about how I used to think Buddha was just the Taiwanese Jesus because the two figures were so alike. As I got older I realized this boyhood confusion lead me down a more profound path when I started seeing, as an adult, the surprising parallels between both figures. For people like John and I, we never were allowed to fall into the traps of fundamentalism or literalism. We both knew from an early age that life was bigger and more mysterious than any rigid interpretation could sufficiently explain.

It's curious, to me, how much time people spend sticking to their guns and attempting to distance themselves from each other with insignificant details when they actually agree in all the most profound, meaningful ways. Let me back away from such an abstract statement and give an example.

I recently tried to convince a group of conservative-leaning Americans that our country would be better off if we became fully bi-lingual and not stick so dogmatically to an "English Only" mentality. Granted, I started out the conversation being my usual, satirical self and they reacted with similar cynicism and sarcasm.

My desire wasn't for yet another pointless black-and-white, choose your side exercise in debate. I really wanted to get people to understand what I was talking about. Obviously being ironic and witty wasn't getting me anywhere, so I turned 180 degrees and told them I thought they were all intelligent, capable people and there's no reason a nation like ours should be incapable of bilingualism.

That didn't work either. They were less willing to agree with me than they were to pick apart some minute details of my argument. Rather than focusing in on my saying they were smart enough to learn a language and building on that they wanted to tear my statements down, accusing me of encouraging immigrants to not learn English by speaking to them in their language.

It seemed no matter what I did to get them to see what we agreed on they spent most of their effort in fighting me. I feel as though they knew we agreed but didn't want to admit it. Perhaps they feared admitting to commonalities amounted to losing the argument they so obviously wanted to "win?"

The whole thing ended in frustration. I was actually swearing at them (using *** to cover up all but the first letters so I wouldn't get censored but they knew my intent). I told them I couldn't believe they would spend so much time tearing down the peripherals of my ideas rather than attempting to add to the conversation about the hart of the issue. I accused them all of having more ego than sense and not being able to look past their own, petty pride.

Not very Buddhist of me or Christ-like, and I later apologized for the outburst, saying I was perhaps pulling a bait-and-switch game on them by starting out tongue-in-cheek when I actually wanted people to listen seriously for a change.

You can't make people do anything. This is a point John and I commiserated on: how so much about American culture angers us yet we try our best to calm down and realize we not only can't make people be any different but we shouldn't. Buddha could only show people the path to enlightenment, not walk it for them just as Jesus could only show people the way to salvation, not actively save them himself.

Even on the most simple things, such as where you're from, we're finding ways to distance ourselves from others. I told John about how some react with "Sounds like you had a more interesting childhood than mine!" when they find out all about my past and how I always felt like it was a dig. He said it sounded like an expression of jealousy and certainly an attempt by people to put space between themselves and me.

He said it was just like the reaction he gets when people find out he got his bachelor's degree from Harvard. Just as I would only offer one piece of my past, "I graduated high school in Bismarck, N.D." he'd answer questions about his education at first with "I studied out east." If someone wanted more, then they'd find out about my grade school years on the reservation or John would specify "Boston." Then, further back to my Taiwan years or John would say "Cambridge." Eventually, of course, "Harvard" would cross his lips and the cat's out of the bag.

I immediately said to him what I correctly assumed was often the response, "Oh, wow, you must be smart!" and the implication, "You must think you're smarter and all-around better than me."

I don't like space between people. I want to connect with people, get to know them and find out about their childhoods and what makes them happy. Now, if someone says "you had a more interesting childhood than mine" I'll tell them how jealous I am that they're so close to the land of their own childhood. They've got friends they've known for decades living close by and extended family perhaps only a couple hours drive away. They've got a sense of belonging, identity and roots that I'll never have.

That's what I want: understanding. I don't just want people to understand me, I want them to understand each other.

All through the conversation John and I had moments where we could have concentrated on our differences but we instead keep the focus on what was the same. I told him how my parents were doing volunteer work to develop a poor economy. He said his parents were there with a different motivation: greed. Somehow I immediately knew that wasn't an honest response from him, and called him on it, saying I'm sure their motivations weren't that dissimilar from my parents.

He readily agreed, and talked about his parents' love for architecture, design and engineering. Obviously, two people who raised someone who wants to study Buddhism aren't motivated by something as base as greed.

All along, every time there was a topic presented between us we would automatically find what was different and in conflict. Then, we'd think better of it, put it into perspective and realize how very similar we both were on a deeper, more meaningful level.

As we said our goodbyes and promised to speak again and continue correspondance, he told me it was great how there was a deeper connection there between us beyond words. I'm starting to see what he was saying, but I can put words to it and I think they're the most beautiful words any person can say to someone else, "I understand you as you understand me."