Author: letterstoleland

December 3, 2024

Dear Leland and Everett,

One of my intentions, in writing these letters, is to leave bread crumbs on the process of self-discovery. I’ve read a lot of books in the “self-help” genre, offering tools or advice or frameworks one might use to achieve one’s goals. One thing I’ve noticed: books tend to give you a finished product or framework. But the authors often miss key details. One common mistake: failure to recognize one’s genius. Self-help books often focus on the problems the author faced, glossing over the tedium others might experience but for the author’s specific genius. These books are invaluable if your problem happens to match the author’s, but less useful otherwise. Self-help books take the Moses approach, where the author is coming down from the mountaintop carrying the stone tablets of wisdom for the reader to consume and follow. If only life were so simple.

But the bigger problem with self-help books is that the authors often try to “save” the reader from the struggle they, the author, faced in learning the hard lessons imparted within the book. What the authors fail to recognize: the struggle is the path. I’ve come to think of life as a video game we ourselves have designed cosmically. The game we designed is just hard enough to keep us challenged, but not so hard as to overwhelm us. Each level in the game offers us the chance to learn and grow in specific ways: if we accept the opportunity, we can grow and advance to the next level. If we decline to learn the lessons life offers, we get to repeat that level in the game. Sometimes we get stuck on a certain level, experiencing the same inconvenience over and over until we learn the available lesson (think of recurring arguments with a loved one, or recurring work frustrations). Also like a video game: sometimes the tools we need are hidden in plain sight, if only we could surrender our stubborn insistence on solving the level our way and open ourselves to the gifts available to us.

Thus, part of writing these letters has been to give you my real-time experiences, taking away my temptation to edit seemingly unimportant details retrospectively. You can decide what details are important and unimportant, and perhaps even discover the importance of different writings evolve as your life circumstances change. Whatever your experience, I at least hope to give you the unvarnished view of my journey, so that you have some breadcrumbs to follow (or not) as you see fit.

On offshoot of this approach has been to try to connect my spiritual and logical pursuits. Said differently: generally, I’ve tried to use logic to explain myself in these letters, even when my experiences were more intuitive or spiritual. I’ve used this approach not just in my letters but also in my approach to everyday life and interaction. Truth be told, I think I’m coming to the end of that element of the journey. Logic remains of value, and I very much expect to continue to use logic. But I’m coming to accept that, while I believe everyone has a spiritual dimension, each individual gets to choose how they weight their spiritual and logical sides (and that those weightings can change over time, even from moment to moment). To the degree I have a spiritual insight, attempting to convince others using logic is, I find, a relatively fruitless exercise. If the intuition connects, great! If not, that’s fine too. Not all insights are meant for all people. At an individual level, not all insights are meant for the current moment; seeds can be planted in order to bloom later.

Partly I offer this preamble by way of explaining why I anticipate the tone of these letters to evolve going forward. I’ve struggled a bit trying to figure out how to write about some of my experiences over the last year or so, and am realizing that I’m stuck writing in an outdated voice. I’m not entirely sure what the new ‘voice’ will be, only that I intend to release some my expectations for how I share with you going forward.

Throat clearing done, let’s go.

You should be familiar with he yin and yang symbol, and the concepts of yin and yang more broadly. Yang (the light half of the circle) associates with masculinity, positivity, activity, independence, order, creation, and even life; Yin (the dark half of the circle) associates with femininity, negativity, passivity, dependence, chaos, destruction, and death. Look at the list again and observe what associations you have:

• Light, positive, active, independent, orderly, creative, life-giving.
• Dark, negative, passive, dependent, chaotic, destructive, deadly.

As I write, American culture (and I think Western culture more broadly) unconsciously treats Yang characteristics as “good” and Yin characteristics as “bad”. By extension, I think we tend to unconsciously associate masculinity with “good” and femininity as “bad”. According to Chinese tradition, yin and yang are meant to exist in balance. Currently I sense a rise of feminine energy in Western culture (something I discussed in a previous letter). My perception is that women, in whom the feminine energy rises disproportionately, don’t know what to do with this energy. Over millennia of promoting masculine energy, we built infrastructure meant to reinforce it. I can read thousands of biographies dedicated to men, which helps me understand how to channel and direct my masculinity. Women have no such luxury: we don’t have nearly the library of feminine heroes. Perhaps unsurprisingly then, women are increasingly acting like men, with increasing aggression in forums ranging from academia to journalism to social media, demanding equal outcomes in the workforce, politics, and the social hierarchy more broadly. I mean this not as a value judgment (e.g. I am not judging whether this is a “good” of “bad” development), just observing. In a culture that treats masculine energy as good and feminine energy as bad, we should probably expect a rise in feminine energy to get channeled in traditionally masculine ways, albeit clumsily.

I recently read that agriculture was discovered/developed in several different parts of the world around the same time. A group of academics hypothesized, and found, that the earth’s temperatures became more unpredictable around that time, perhaps making food less reliable and encouraging the development of agriculture. To me, this sounds like the story of Adam and Eve, when humanity stopped living in harmony with its environment and attempted to take control of our own destiny, thus setting off the tension we feel between our spiritual and logical selves. The spiritual self yearns for harmony with creation and the universe, while the logical self wants to remain in control (or at least the illusion of control).

Interestingly, the development of agriculture set off a bit of an arms race. Harvesting encouraged the creation of storage for crops. Storing food encouraged theft or pilferage (why cultivate and store crops if one can more easily take from others?), which encouraged the creation of security apparatuses like armies and fortresses to protect the land from would-be raiders. Note that building storage, stealing from others, and creating armies are all expressions of masculine energy. Thus, the development of agriculture set off something of a feedback loop promoting masculine energy. This, I think, is what people ultimately mean when they rail against “the patriarchy”: a long-standing tradition of the promotion of masculine values, such that they become so embedded in cultural norms as to become almost invisible.

And so now we see the rise of feminine energy, attacking social norms and institutions, sowing chaos, and paving the way for death and decay. Our society doesn’t like destruction, chaos, and death, so we’re fighting the changes. Neither men nor women know how to adapt to this changing balance of energy.

My coach taught me that feminine energy looks for boundaries. When masculine energy can set a firm container capable of holding feminine energy, that feminine energy can then melt into the release of energy that is death or surrender. I found this to be true, even within my own being: in the St Ignatius exercises I participated in last year, I found myself creating a safe space where I could then accept vulnerability and uncertainty, and surrender those aspects of myself that were ready to die. From that place of death (or surrender), rebirth is possible. I notice a similar thing when I stretch: my muscles instinctively resist an uncomfortable stretch, but when they sense safety the tight muscles begin to release. The release isn’t instant or painless, but comes in waves of release and tension.

As I’ve said before, I believe we’re in an era of death. Thus the rise of femininity. I don’t know what will die. In my experience, the process of surrender is inherently uncertain (or chaotic). One cannot know until the process begins what will die and, from there, what will emerge. But the process cannot begin until firm boundaries are set, containing but also protecting the feminine energy. As individuals but also society, we are invited to set boundaries such that we can descend into chaos securely. My sense is we have a tremendous amount of pain to release in order that we might jump into a new era spiritually, economically, and politically. I think the world we move into will look dramatically different from the world we inhabit today, and I suspect the pace of change will be dizzying. I do believe, with some confidence, changes are inevitable, and resistance will only result in suffering (indeed, while discomfort and pain are sometimes unavoidable, I am coming to believe suffering is invariably created by resistance to what is).

I experienced a visual recently. Unlike past visions, this occurred during normal consciousness (e.g. neither dreaming nor meditating). I envisioned God coming in the form of a storm. We (individually and collectively) will be tempted to retreat into the castles we’ve built. These castles are the false gods we worship (these might include our education system, media, political parties, religious dogma, and potentially even our political and economic systems – e.g. the United States of America, capitalism, socialism, and Marxism). Our instinct will tempt us to descend into the deepest recesses of the castle, and maybe even chain ourselves down in an effort to sense security. But when God’s storm razes and floods the castle, we will find ourselves trapped in a hell of our own making.

The alternative is not entirely clear: are we to build a boat? A plane? Or are we to swim? Or fly? I do think we are invited out to face the storm, and to trust we will know what to do at the appropriate time. I believe the coming storm is meant to clear out those false gods that no longer serve us and are meant to die. We can retreat into them, or we can release the underlying pain that caused us to build them in the first place. One choice will trap us in a hell of our own making. The other choice will release us from suffering and carry us into a new era unburdened. Unimaginably better days lie on the other side of the storm, if only we allow the storm to blow away the detritus that cannot make the journey with us.

I feel more uncertainty now than perhaps at any point in my life. The uncertainty unnerves me, but the storm comes regardless. All I can do is prepare myself, and attempt to prepare the two of you (and anyone else interested in making the journey).

I’ve previously discussed my recurring dream of being precariously stuck at great heights. In one relatively recent dream, I was floating (for the first time, I wasn’t even perched on something) above the Bay Area (basically at the vantage point of the weather reports on local news). I assumed I was falling, then realized I could float. I wondered what to do, and heard a telepathic message: “Lift it up”. I’m not entirely sure what that meant; I do sense a calling to stay and do my work here in the Bay Area (I’m often tempted to leave, discouraged by the cost of living and poor governance). In another dream, I was again floating, this time above a nondescript area. Wondering what to do, I first heard the message “Fly” before another, “And untie yourself”. I looked down to see a rope tied around my ankle, tethering me to the ground hundreds of feet below. I’ve heard about this stage in a spiritual journey, wherein one builds a bridge from the old world to the new, then dismantles the bridge behind.

In the latest manifestations of these dreams, I am not the one perched precariously. You are. I am terrified of watching the two of you fall. My sense, though it scares me to even articulate it, is that I am being invited to teach you both the tools you need to make the journey for yourselves. Wish me luck?

I love you both, more than you will ever know.

Love,

Dad

December 2, 2024

Dear Leland and Everett,

I realize I have not written since the election. Truth be told, I don’t have many firm observations thus far. As you know, Donald Trump won. People are still digesting the news, and it remains to be seen how we collectively react and respond. One anecdote I can share: in the days after the election, I noticed basically everyone I encountered had faced or was facing some form of chaos. I assumed everyone was consumed by the election, the same as I. Testing my hypothesis, I shared with various friends and close acquaintances how the election had been a source of emotional turmoil for me and asked about their experience. Most folks hadn’t dedicated much consciousness to the election; almost all, however, were going through some form of emotional turmoil, or what I came to think of as inner chaos. I spoke with individuals who recently fought bitterly with parents, or were genuinely worried their marriage was falling apart, or whose child was unexpectedly in the hospital, or whose work situations were more chaotic than anytime in years. I don’t entirely know what to make of the observation, but my loose interpretation is that everyone ‘felt’ the anxiety and chaos of election week, even if they weren’t particularly attached to the election results themselves.

The purpose of this letter, though, isn’t to discuss the election. It’s to reminisce about our trip last week. In the second installment of what may become a family tradition, we travelled with your mom’s family the week of Thanksgiving. If I understand correctly, your mom’s family didn’t have many Thanksgiving traditions growing up. In fact, they didn’t have many traditions, period, so far as I can tell. But your mom gets the week of Thanksgiving off from work, your school now gives you the week off, your uncle can take vacation when he wants, and your Ah Ma is retired…so Thanksgiving is an oddly convenient for time for us to travel with your mom’s family. Your mom, to her credit, seems to be somewhat intentional about creating some family traditions with her mom and brother. Last year we travelled to Hawaii to celebrate Ah Ma’s 70th birthday; this year we travelled to Cancun, potentially starting a tradition of celebrating Thanksgiving by traveling together.

Selecting Cancun was something of an accident. Some friends of ours have a timeshare there, and generously offered us a week of theirs; the resulting discounted rates enabled us to stay at a resort that we otherwise would not have been able to afford comfortably. The resort was all-inclusive, such that we didn’t have to pay for food, alcohol, or most activities while there. We did have the option to pay for certain activities, including some excursions.

Part of the timeshare’s business model is to try to sell folks on buying timeshares. For us, that meant offering us “resort credits” that we could use on select activities, if we agreed to hear the sales pitch. Entertainingly, all the adults in our group agreed that we were uninterested in hearing the sales pitch, but when a representative of the resort explained how much credit we could get and how expensive certain activities were, our group changed our minds almost immediately. Actually, that’s a little oversimplified: I remained uninterested in hearing the pitch, but your uncle really wanted to play golf and the golf was otherwise pretty prohibitively expensive; your mom and Ah Ma were more than willing to go with your uncle to help him (and us, to be fair) get some credits we could use to enhance our trip. So on Monday morning (we arrived Saturday night), you two and I slept in while your mom, uncle, and Ah Ma went to hear the sales pitch over breakfast. The promised hour-and-a-half pitch extended a bit longer, as the sales team used various delay tactics to try to coax a purchase out of us. Ultimately we didn’t purchase (we’re not the type of family that likes to travel to the same location repeatedly, so timeshares have pretty limited appeal), but I suspect the experience required some unwanted energy expenditure from your mom. Saying no to a sales pitch of this nature can be exhausting, and wasn’t a great way for your mom to start a vacation where she really needed some R&R.

After the sales pitch ended and they had earned resort credits, your mom and uncle decided to go straight to schedule activities. Activities did book out, so this was probably a good strategy, but it had a couple interesting consequences. For one, I think your mom was already pretty tired from the sales pitch when she scheduled her (and our) activities. Moreover, it meant that they scheduled our activities without my involvement, with an interesting implication.

Going into the trip I had articulated to your mom that I wanted some “kid-free” time during the trip to decompress. I love you guys dearly, and really enjoy spending time with you. But I have spent a ton of time with you since the summer, and I noticed that my energy levels around you were starting to wane. You guys are great, but kids express their needs in part by testing their parents. With your mom working and me not working, those interactions mostly fall to me these days. So when you guys are bored or frustrated, you look to me. Sometimes you want me to play with you. Sometimes you ask for permission to play on your iPads, something your mom and I try to limit (we don’t believe screen time is particularly healthy, especially for kids). Sometimes you guys fight with each other in an effort, I think, to get attention from me. All of those interactions require energy from me, and over time I got worn down. So I asked your mom to help me make sure I got some down time.

In an effort to honor my request, your mom set up two off-resort excursions with the two of you, your uncle, and herself. Normally I would be the one to take you on an adventure with your uncle while your mom stayed back, so this plan inverted our normal roles. I used the downtime to invest in activities that help me recharge: exercise, sauna, and a massage your mom set up for me with her resort credits. As a result, by the end of the trip, I felt ready to reengage with you guys, which I appreciate as we go into the Christmas holidays and then the spring semester.

Unfortunately I’m not sure your mom got enough downtime, and it will be important for us to work together in coming weeks to help her decompress. I think she enjoyed the excursions, but watching after you two in an exotic country requires energy, and she’s likely also running a bit low on energy these days. Fortunately we did get her a massage and an off day the last day of the trip, but I sense that wasn’t enough for her to come home feeling refreshed and recharged.

I shouldn’t overstate the negative. We had a pretty wonderful trip. You guys spent multiple days playing in the pool. The resort had a water park and play room that you guys spent multiple days visiting. The main building housed an arcade you guys visited at every opportunity. The family met for dinner each night, pretty much invariably experiencing excellent meals together (although Leland didn’t love the food as much as the adults did). You guys enjoyed playing with each other in the pool enough that your mom and I were able to enjoy some much needed time together without interruption. Honestly, the trip was wonderful. We just need to help your mom out a bit in the coming weeks, particularly during the typically stressful weeks building to Christmas.

One day Leland joined your uncle for one of his golf outings. The adventure of driving the golf cart (a first), putting on real putting greens (which he let you do), and just tagging along with your uncle for the day was pretty special, and one of Leland’s stated highlights coming out of the trip. Interestingly, Everett exercised some independence in Leland’s absence. For one thing, Everett elected not to go, which is unusual: Everett pretty much always wants to tag along with Leland and your uncle. For another, Everett typically leans on mom or dad as a playmate when Leland is gone. This time however, Everett went to the swimming pool, purposely by himself, and made new friends. Before and after lunch Everett went into the pool and quickly established a group of kids to play with. And finally, Everett typically wants company in everything he does (even asking adults to join him while he goes to take his nightly shower); this day, however, Everett asked to go change into his swimsuit back at the room (while the adults were wrapping up breakfast) by himself. You served yourself at the breakfast buffet that day, proactively striking out on your own to explore your preferred food options. Given your typically strong preference for company in everything you do, even small exercises of independence seemed pronounced. I’ll be very curious to see if you move into a new phase of increased independence, or if that experience proves to be more isolated. But on that day, I thought it pretty clear you wanted some newfound freedom to experiment and explore on your own.

On Thanksgiving night we ate at one of the fancier resort restaurants. We dressed up and took pictures to mark the occasion. At one point, while taking pictures of the two of you with Ah Ma, your mom and uncle got frustrated with Leland for not taking better pictures. Actually, I kinda think your uncle got frustrated, and then your mom felt compelled to step in and help correct her errant child’s behavior. But they both started lecturing Leland, expressing their frustration. After a few minutes, I noticed a pattern: your mom and uncle were taking turns lecturing, reiterating the same points over and over again. I sensed they were getting stuck in a loop. In that moment, I suspected that your mom and uncle were repeating a pattern they learned as kids.

I know, from talking to your mom, that she doesn’t have positive associations with family vacations. Her dad would get stressed out and anxious, and take out his anxiety on his family. Taking his negative emotions out on the family was how your mom and uncle experienced your Ah Gong more generally. At home they could at least escape to school (during weekdays) or their own rooms (during weekends at home). On vacation, getting away from a verbally abusive parent is harder. Anyway, my strong suspicion is that your mom and uncle got stuck in a loop of lecturing you because they were enacting what they experienced from their dad growing up.

I noticed Leland getting deflated and frustrated, and decided to intervene. I said “Okay, we’re piling on. I’m gonna protect my kid. Let’s take a break. We can regroup in a few minutes and try again.” After a few seconds of silence your uncle started in again, “Leland, you know I don’t normally…”. I cut him off immediately, this time raising my voice (which I rarely do around your mom’s family), “I JUST SAID we’re piling on, I’m protecting my kid, and we’re going to take a break”. After a few seconds of silence, he muttered “You’re right.”

At this point Leland and I made eye contact, and I sensed relief and gratitude buried under sadness and hurt feeling needing to be processed. At my request, you came to sit in my lap, looking away from the table to hide your pain. I talked quietly into your ear and the back of your head, so that only you and I could hear. I told you I thought I observed your mom and your uncle ganging up on you and asked if you felt that way; you nodded, and somehow I thought I could feel the tears welling up in your eyes even though I couldn’t see them. I explained that this was why I stepped in, and said I had a couple other observations I could offer. I explained that your uncle can be a little fussy about pictures, and that I’ve experienced that fussiness and found it frustrating as well (your uncle takes about ten times as many pictures of certain situations as I would). I asked if that frustrated you, and you nodded. Then I commented that your uncle had explicitly said he wanted one more picture, then proceeded to ask you to remain still for 30-60 more seconds. I said I could see how this would be frustrating [aside: especially for you; you REALLY do not like it when people do not keep their word, including and perhaps especially authority figures like your parents] and asked if that bothered you; you nodded again. I expressed that I could see how you would be frustrated. After a moment, trying to give the frustration some space to release, I transitioned: “can I offer you what I think your mom and uncle were trying to express?” You nodded again. I observed that you have developed a pretty good fake smile, and that your fake smile is such an improvement over what you were previously offering your mom and I that we’ve never challenged you on it. Given the occasion and circumstances, your uncle wanted genuine smiles, and was frustrated by your fake smile. I asked if this made sense, and you nodded again. I suggested we eat dinner and then try again, and in exchange suggested that we would want a more genuine smile; when I asked if this proposal seemed fair, you nodded again. At this point we both understood the conversation to be complete, and you slid off my lap and sat next to me.

Later in the meal your uncle started to tell your mom and Ah Ma stories from his childhood. The two of you crawled into my lap and we talked and played “Simon Says” in a separate interaction. Your mom later told me that your uncle was sharing some of his most traumatic experiences with your Ah Gong from childhood. I think the act of sharing was cathartic for him especially, though I think all of them experienced catharsis in the exchange. And while I don’t know that your uncle’s storytelling stemmed from the spat over the pictures, I suspect it was. Even if the connection was unconscious, I suspect interrupting the loop of taking out his frustration on Leland invited your uncle to become aware of the source of those frustrations (an at times verbally abusive father), and then feel the desire to share those memories in an attempt to experience some healing. While I can’t know for sure, I sense your uncle, mom, and Ah Ma all experienced some healing that night.

Moreover, I think they experienced some healing just from the trip itself. My hope, which I shared with your mom, is that we are creating new associations with family vacations, allowing you mom’s family to let go of some old wounds, heal, and create positive memories. Moreover, I hope we come to feel a deeper sense of love and connection with each other because of this trip as well as those that follow. I think the healing will take time and repetition, but with intention I believe we can do it, together. Hopefully, by the time you read this, you have fond memories of our time traveling together. If you retrospectively notice the healing we experienced along the way, so much the better.

I love you both; more than you know. I’m so glad we were able to have that experience for Thanksgiving, and I look forward to Christmas and New Year’s in the weeks to come.

Love,

Dad

October 30, 2024

Dear Leland and Everett,

In yesterday’s letter I outlined several ways in which my hyper-educated, hyper-intellectual tribe uses Donald Trump (and Republicans more broadly) to avoid seeing inconvenient aspects of ourselves. I left out a couple. For one, my tribe worries about the spread of misinformation online. To be sure, lots of people appear to fall victim to the spread of falsehoods these days. What my peers fail to notice is that our tribe is also susceptible to the spread of and belief in misinformation. We really don’t want to face the degree to which we have enabled and bought into convenient falsehoods, and so we use a misplaced fear in the spread of misinformation on social media to mask our own shortcomings.

Finally (at least for now), my tribe has become increasingly obsessed over the last decade over what we believe to be pervasive racism, xenophobia, and homophobia in America. To be clear: racism, xenophobia, and homophobia are alive and well today. And to give credit where it’s due, our current focus on these forms of bigotry have helped us see 1) ways in which latent bigotry exists where we didn’t previously recognize it, and 2) ways in which our systems have become structurally bigoted, preventing groups of people from overcoming our legacy of discrimination.

Here’s the problem: those who obsess over racism, xenophobia, and homophobia do so, at least in part, because these forms of bigotry are not deeply problematic for themselves and our tribe. My tribe has encountered high-status individuals from all races, and so struggles less with the concept that all races are created equal. My tribe has encountered high-status members of the LGBT community, and see the inherent humanity in these individuals. And my tribe has travelled extensively, developing an understanding that Americans stand to learn and benefit from all nations.

My tribe does, however, suffer from one form of bigotry. We deeply loathe our idea of the beer-drinking, gun-toting, flag-waving, truck-driving, beard-sporting, red-shirt-with-cutoff-sleeve-wearing, working-class white men from middle America. I say, with some confidence, that if I showed members of my tribe a picture of a stereotypical middle-American working-class conservative, many would get irrationally angry just looking at the image. What my tribe fails to see is that this irrational anger is bigotry, not so different from the racism, xenophobia, and homophobia over which we obsess.

What does this all mean? Permit me to return to metaphor.

My first vision included an excerpt where I saw storm clouds gathering on the horizon. My understanding was that the forming storm clouds represented the rise of what we commonly call evil, but I would now describe as the physical manifestations of fear. In response I raised an army (a thought which troubled me later; as I don’t consider myself a particularly combative or militant person) and marched out to face the storm. Upon facing the storm, I got confused, and eventually continued on without a fight. In fact I remember taking off armor and feeling lighter and freer as a result.

A few months ago I witnessed the same storm clouds gathering. In this vision I approached the storm alone (without the army). Upon facing the storm, I wondered what to do next. Then I heard (the message wasn’t auditory, but that’s the closest explanation I can offer): “be the Light”. And so, I let my light shine in the face of the storms. I wondered “what if my Light is not enough”. The answer: “others will arrive with their Light”. What I have come to understand from this experience: we don’t fight fear, but confront fear with love. Festering fear and pain can and will manifest into atrocities. But fighting fear, at least the way I previously understood it, meant fighting fear with fear. Fear only begets more fear, which begets more pain and suffering. Love need not be passive, and need not allow others to harm us; indeed, acting in love means setting clear and firm boundaries. But the source of our actions (fear vs love) matters more than the actions themselves.

In a separate vision (one I have not described before) I found myself in an encounter with God. God did not have a human form, appearing more like a star (e.g. the sun) than anything else. I was close enough that the star filled my field of view, but obviously far enough away that I could muster some perception of God’s magnitude.

In this presence I found myself somewhat overwhelmed by the power and energy of God’s presence. I convulsed involuntarily, though for how long I have no idea. What struck me: long after the vision ended, the convulsions continued with steady but declining frequency. Throughout the night (ruining my sleep) and well into the following day, I continued to experience periodic convulsions. Over time I noticed that these convulsions were often paired with waves of fear.

Strangely, I found a parallel to this experience in my physical life. After I quit my job, I would periodically get overwhelmed by waves of fear. Over time the frequency of these waves decreased, much like in (and after) the vision. What I eventually came to understand from this experience: fear and inspiration share the same source.

What we experience as fear is really just our resistance to inspiration. That feeling we associate with inspiration is what we experience when we allow the inspiration to flow through us, without the resistance. But the inspiration is a lot to hold, and so we tend to experience inspiration in small doses. Even musicians and artists, who in many ways excel at surrendering to and channeling inspiration, struggle to navigate daily life precisely because they struggle to navigate between states of inspiration and…whatever it is we call normal daily life.

Even after years of work I find that I can only hold myself in a state of openness for brief periods. After extended periods of openness (a Spiritual Stew meeting, for example), I find myself needing a ‘recovery’ period of sorts. I find these periods of openness to be taxing physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. Thus, in much the way an endurance athlete trains in order to be able to achieve longer distances, I find myself practicing various methods of healing in order that I may sustain longer and longer periods of openness.

I cannot recall what I have shared regarding my St Ignatius group exercises. For today, I will summarize as follows: I went into the exercises wanting some direction on what to do with my life. Instead, what I mostly experienced was my body identifying various barriers that needed to be surrendered. I would wait impatiently for a few days, typically while some inconvenience emerged (and expanded) in my body and/or daily life. Each time I slowly came to recognize that the inconvenience was in fact an opportunity. The act of surrender was never fun, so I had to muster some intention and grace. Eventually, through intentional meditation, a visual would appear. Through that visual I would understand the source of the underlying pain, and the ‘armor’ I had adopted to protect myself from said pain. I would come to understand that the armor was no longer serving me, and that it was time for me to surrender it. I invariably disliked the idea of surrendering my armor, and typically asked God for some guidance on what would replace the armor. I found God doesn’t work that way, at least not with me. I had to surrender my armor first, not knowing what would come, but trusting I was moving toward something better. Surrendering something embedded deep in my being left a void, an experience I disliked each time it occurred. Eventually, slowly, I began to notice new growth emerging in the space opened up. If the original discomfort originated in my daily life, I typically experienced a breakthrough encounter (a more productive conversation or disagreement in a particular relationship, for example). With each surrender I assumed I had finished unpacking my armor. I would wait a few more days, impatient for God to unveil God’s plan for me, only to find a new inconvenience bubbling to the surface, demanding my attention. This process repeated over the course of months. Until.

Finally, after unpacking various forms of armor, and allowing God’s love into those wounds that I had previously thought were the unloveable parts of myself, I eventually experienced the sensation that the unpacking was complete. Not that it was an enjoyable experience. I felt naked, exposed, and raw. In my meditations, inviting God’s presence, I felt unprotected in a way I can’t possibly put into words. But I recognized that only from this place, having surrendered all the armor and having welcomed God’s love into every corner of my being, could I begin to fully open myself to God’s will.

Unfortunately, I also came to understand that I am not meant to understand God’s will. I had assumed God’s will would be unveiled to me in some way I could understand. The clearest metaphor I can muster: on some level I always presumed I would come down from the mountain like Moses carrying the 10 Commandments carved into stone tablets. Said differently, I assumed I would become an all-knowing being of sorts, a messenger of God if you will. Alas, I don’t think that’s how we are meant to experience God. When we open ourselves, God’s will unfolds through us. We don’t understand how nor why, at least not in ways we could explain to others. We just know what we are meant to say or do, and so we say or do accordingly.

Over the last couple of months I have been frustrated by the apparent lack of activity or clarity in my journey. But some nuggets are starting to emerge. For one, I’m starting to notice that people tend to show up in my life broadcasting their pain. Of course, that’s not our common understanding of said behavior. When people get angry and emotional, we tend to assume the anger has some underlying righteousness. What I have now come to understand is that we are experiencing some divine inspiration, but are blocked by the armor we adopted to protect us from pain. In the process, we buried the parts of ourselves we (often unknowingly) came to believe were unloveable. As a result, inspiration came to be expressed as sadness, fear, anger, or in extreme cases contempt or even hate.

Interestingly, though I sense that I have unpacked the armor that was exclusively mine to unpack, I find that I still experience waves of discomfort and blockages of sorts. When I explore these blockages, I discover shared sources of pain: interactions with loved ones that want to be healed, ideally together. In this way, I find myself interacting with your mom differently, often wanting to revisit and heal past arguments.

To my chagrin, I still don’t have a grand plan or vision for my life. But I am starting to get some ideas about the directions in which I am getting pulled. For one, I intend to explore this idea of releasing shared pain. Partly that appears to mean revisiting shared painful memories so that relationships might heal accordingly. I am curious to explore whether that release of shared pain can go even further. Can a conduit help others find the inspiration to heal? Is that not partly what great art does, but to touch some part of us that yearns to be held, that we might let go of some pain that no longer serves us?

More broadly, I think I am being pulled toward helping others recognize when they are experiencing an invitation to surface and release their own armor, that they might heal the underlying pain and begin the long journey of healing and the approach to wholeness. How I will help others, I have no idea. But I am beginning to accept that I don’t need to know, that I am invited to be open to inspiration as it hits, and from that place I will know what to say and do.

Finally, I find myself gravitating toward an experience of sustained openness. I continue to find openness discomforting, such that I tend to avoid the experience via social media, eating, or other forms of distraction. But as the discomfort of openness wanes from convulsing pain to mere uncomfortable vibration, I am beginning to understand how I might be able to sustain that experience for longer and longer periods.

So how do my discoveries relate to my tribe in this election? To the extent I have an answer, it’s this: my tribe seems quite agitated. My experience tells me this agitation serves as an opportunity to identify and heal underlying sources of pain. I sense I have a roll to play in supporting those who wish to surrender their armor and heal. My hope is that my tribe will begin the healing process before the storm clouds really begin to form (e.g. before we begin to commit atrocities), but we shall see.

I love you both.

Love,

Dad

October 29, 2024

Dear Leland and Everett,

We are a week away from the 2024 presidential election. At the beginning of the year I wrote that I anticipated this election would be fraught. Now that the election is upon us, I have new thoughts to share.

The first is just the level of anxious energy I feel. I personally feel a tremendous amount of anxious energy coming from me, but also notice and sense it in many around me. In my note yesterday I observed how I have struggled with mental chatter since completing my fast; the energy I feel around the election very much complicates my ability to calm the noise.

For me, one source of anxiety is just how close this election appears to be. Unlike any election I can remember, this election cycle has looked like a coin-flip for practically the duration of the campaign season. Whether one looks at polling information, handicappers like Nate Silver, or betting markets, all show this election appears to be very, very close. When the odds have deviated, they have remained closer to a coin flip than any substantial lead or reason to be confident in any sort of certainty of outcome. What I observe from this is just how much my ego hates the uncertainty. I really want to know what’s going to happen, and the circumstances’ refusal to bend to my desire frustrates me more than I would have anticipated. My takeaway: our egos loathe uncertainty.

My second source of anxiety is my attachment to the outcome. I’m not particularly attached to who wins; I trust that God’s plan is greater than this election. Even if I don’t understand how or why, I have some faith that God’s will is unfolding. I’m open to the possibility God will tilt this election one way or another, but I suspect God has bigger plans and considers this election something of a trifle. But while I’m less attached to who wins, I find myself particularly attached to what we learn from this election.

As you know by now, I grew up in small town East Texas. My hometown was part of the Bible Belt, where fundamentalist-evangelical Christianity dominated. Partly as a result, I was condemned to hell a lot, despite growing up Protestant (in my case, Presbyterian) myself. Every Sunday I attended church, Sunday school, and youth group. I participated in extracurricular activities ranging from church camps and other fellowship activities to charity work. I was baptized and confirmed. Apparently, though I never understood what nor why, my peers often found something lacking in my pedigree such that they intimated or implied that I would go to hell for not following the path they themselves were on.

Another thing I noticed: the fundamentalists in my hometown often had a tightly-held but shallow understanding of their faith. When I challenged their understanding of abortion or homosexuality, I generally (though certainly not always) found that they hadn’t thought through their positions and typically regurgitated lines they learned from their elders. When I declined to accept these declarations at face value, my interlocutors typically responded with emotional outbursts, often resorting to ad hominem attacks.

I always assumed the problem with the fundamentalists of my hometown was a lack of education (and, if I’m being honest, maybe even intelligence). My assumption was that in adulthood I could avoid these confrontations if only I found a more intelligent, educated community. Influenced by this assumption, I sought more knowledge and education, and communities of increasing intelligence and education. This search for education and intelligence yielded a graduate degree from MIT and residence in Silicon Valley, one of the most educated and intelligent communities on the planet.

I notice a strange phenomenon along the way. Boston and Bay Area California are as liberal as East Texas was conservative. The hyper-educated communities of my adulthood are as liable to believe convenient falsehoods and reject inconvenient truths as the relatively under-educated communities of my childhood. Coastal liberals have tightly-held but shallowly understood beliefs just like fundamentalists do, and coastal liberals are just as likely to resort to ad hominem attacks when those beliefs get challenged. Coastal liberals might not invoke hell, but their attempts to “cancel” those they wish to excommunicate effectively serve the same purpose as the evangelicals’ condemning one to hell. Finally, coastal liberals are just as tribal, just as emotional, and just as susceptible to being blinded to logic as fundamentalists.

Perhaps said most simply, coastal liberals are every bit as human as fundamentalists, a realization I must confess crushed me. Remember, my assumption was that the tribalism and shallow spirituality of East Texas was related to a lack of education (and maybe even intelligence). Watching the most educated and intelligent corners of the country (and globe) behave in the same manner prove that assumption wrong, at least to my satisfaction. While one can (and should) take this discovery optimistically (we are all equally flawed, and thus all equally redeemable), I personally experienced a bit of an existential crisis.

In the midst of this existential crisis I realized the degree to which I had taken education (and intelligence) as articles of faith. I believed implicitly that education and intelligence were good and to be pursued as a matter of priority. At some level, education and intelligence became false gods for me: things I believed in so implicitly, and so deeply, that I was not willing to entertain the possibility that they could be anything other than the keys to personal salvation. Even more humbling, I realized I had put education and intelligence where belief in a higher power typically belongs.

From here, I realized a few things. First I came to appreciate how deeply humans need to believe in something, to the degree we turn things into God in the absence of a practice of faith. Second, I came to understand and appreciate how “false gods” take root. Third, I began to appreciate how no human has the capacity to reason everything from first principles, and as a result inevitably takes some truths on faith (these might be the things we learn in school, in church, from our parents, or from our understanding of the scientific literature). Fourth, I realized how our most deeply adopted articles of faith tend to become intertwined with our personal identity; thus, when the things we accept implicitly become challenged, we feel as though our very identities are being attacked.

How do these discoveries tie back to the election? Well, I see my tribe (my hyper-educated, hyper-intelligent community) behaving increasingly tribally. Lacking an explicit faith tradition (backstory: in the 1980s and 1990s, evangelical Christians became increasingly vocal and political; as a result, many intelligent and educated folks left Christianity for fear of being associated with the often hypocritical bigots who increasingly became the public identity of Christianity), my tribe has I think increasingly worshiped at the altars of education and intelligence. We assume all things are knowable with enough education, enough data, and enough research. The 21st century, through accelerating technological progress, institutional breakdowns, and globalization backlash, is reminding humanity that our brains are not capable of holding, even collectively, the overwhelming magnitude of what is true or possible. For those of us who have invested in worshiping at the altar of education, current trends are terrifying.

Sadly, my tribe resists the truth that we do not and cannot know everything. Instead, we do what humans tend to do when our gods get challenged: attack the perceived threats. In this particular case, my tribe vilifies Republicans (particularly Donald Trump and his loyal base of supporters known as MAGA – an acronym for Make America Great Again – Republicans). We’d much rather cling to the belief that humanity could resume its quest to know and master everything, if only those blasted Republicans and their evil leader Donald Trump would get out of the way. On a deeper level, we all know the truth: Trump is a distraction from the bigger challenges. For me, the only question remaining is how long it will take those who loathe Trump to let go of their resistance and allow what is to simply be. From what I can tell, all human suffering is a result of resistance to what is.

And we are resisting. Twice people have attempted to kill Donald Trump. The news media regularly compares Trump to Hitler, attempting to wield the largest insult they can muster in labelling Trump a fascist. They claim Donald Trump is a threat to democracy and that he will prosecute his political enemies. But the facts barely paint the picture: I do not know how to convey with words the pain, suffering, and resistance I see amongst those who really, really want Donald Trump not to be president again.

What my tribesmen fail to recognize is the degree to which we are projecting our own shortcomings onto Donald Trump. We are the ones undermining democracy: through attempts to silence dissent on social media, capturing and wielding institutions ranging from academia to journalism to the federal bureaucracy, through our relentless attacks on the Supreme Court (with it’s 6-3 conservative majority). My tribe doesn’t want to see the degree to which they are ready to give up on the Constitution because, well, we think we know better now; we fail to see how our shallow hubris presents as much or more of a threat to American democracy than anything Trump or his followers might muster. My tribe desperately doesn’t want to acknowledge how refusing to enforce American immigration laws undermines the rule of law and, by extension, democracy itself. And my tribe really doesn’t want to acknowledge the painfully obvious truth that we, in fact, are the ones prosecuting our political enemies. My tribe continues to inflate Trump’s apparent evil precisely because we need bigger and bigger blinders to avoid seeing the truth that Donald Trump serves to hide us from our own shortcomings. My tribe, the progressive tribe, the intellectual tribe, cannot see the irony that we are the ones blocking progress.

And therein lies my attachment. I’m ready for my tribe to wake up, to see a little more clearly, or at least show some openness to the deeper truths that we seem so desperately stubborn to avoid.

I can almost hear my tribe responding “But what about…”. A pretty good litmus test for one’s resistance to what is, at least in this context, is their insistence of batting away inconvenient observations by pointing to allegedly worse behaviors from the other side. I’ll readily admit that I would be having a very different conversation if I still lived in East Texas and my community were still dominated by fundamentalist-evangelical Christians. But that’s not my community: today I live amongst the hyper-educated coastal progressives. I can only help those I encounter, and the pain I encounter most commonly are my tribesmen suffering from blind rage directed at Donald Trump.

The most common question I get from people navigating their spiritual journey who sense I might be farther along and able to offer some guidance is some version of the following: my spouse isn’t showing an interest in doing the spiritual work that I do…how do I deal with that? I’m very familiar with that line of thinking, because I struggled with it myself. My answer: don’t make your spouse an excuse to avoid doing the work you know you need to do. The idea that we need our spouses to do the work alongside us is a codependent delusion. No one can do our work but us, and we don’t need any one person’s support or permission. I convey this with compassion and grace, because I needed compassion and grace in order to recognize I was making excuses for doing the work by imagining that your mom was blocking my progress. I tell this story just to observe the parallel between the my progressive tribesmen and the codependent spouse: we don’t need the other (spouse or political tribe) to do our own work. In fact, in my experience, when we do our work, we create space that invites our spouse to do their work. Said differently, I’m quite confident that if my tribe began our healing process, we would invite those infernal Republicans to do the same.

A metaphor hit me the other day. God is coming, in the form of a storm. The purpose of the storm is to knock down and wash away some old and unstable artifacts, in order to make room for new life to grow. Those of us who have built castles meant to protect us from outside threats face a temptation to retreat into said castles, to lock the doors and windows, and retreat to the base of the castle. We might even choose to chain ourselves down in an effort to anchor ourselves to a perceived source of safety. But when the storm comes, knocks down the castle we’ve built, and floods the area, we are likely to find our castles offer poor protection. In fact, we risk trapping ourselves in a hell of our own creation.

The other option is less clear. Are we to build a boat? A plane? Learn how to fly like Superman? I’m not sure which metaphor to use. What is clear, at least to me, is that we are invited to develop the capacity to weather the storm (without the castle) lest we suffer unnecessarily when the storm arrives. The cost of navigating the storm will be releasing our attachments to false gods, a cost many will find too dear.

And so…what do I do now? What have I learned from this exercise? The truth is, I still don’t exactly know. I do sense that I’m invited to sit in the discomfort of uncertainty, both with the election result as well as whether my tribe will accept the invitation to release our attachments. I’m increasingly learning that I need to let go of my attachment to convincing those stuck in logic using logic. The deeper truths I’ve learned have come from…something else. Call it intuition, call it a connection to the universe, call it divine inspiration: I honestly don’t know how to describe how I know. But speaking from that place, where I learn things by way of metaphor (which likely means speaking in metaphor) is likely to yield better results than attempting to translate what I have learned into a language of logic.

I tend not to think as linearly as I did a year ago, and so find these posts challenging: I see connections everywhere, and want to explore those connections all at once. Today I’ll resist the temptation to go further, and just offer that I hope to return soon with other learnings that connect, but perhaps only loosely. In the meantime, I need to pick you guys up from afterschool so that we can go to Everett’s piano lesson before partaking in a birthday celebration…and Leland’s extracurricular math class. And so I say goodbye for now.

Until next time, I love you.

Love,

Dad

October 3, 2024

Leland and Everett,

In my last note I talked a bit about paying attention to that little voice, learning to listen and learning to follow where it leads. That voice led me to quit my job. It led me to the church I now attend. It’s led me to myriad smaller actions that have positively impacted my life. Upon reflection of that voice, I realize I have not written you about Spiritual Stew.

I started a group in May. We meet roughly biweekly (I make exceptions for holidays or personal conflicts). The purpose of the group is to explore spiritual topics in a religiously neutral way; in other words, the group is irreligious, though it welcomes members of all religions. Our one commitment is that we don’t try to impose our beliefs on one another.

I host and facilitate, but don’t have an agenda. The format I use invites anyone to submit a topic for discussion. From there I let folks break out into separate discussions. I use this format because I believe it fills a need. I’ve participated in groups where the host plays the role of presenter, bringing content for the group to consume. That format is great as far as it goes, but 1) it puts an enormous amount of responsibility on the presenter to prepare content, and 2) it’s not particularly engaging for the audience. If the topic happens to pique your interest, the presenter format is great; otherwise it’s pretty boring. The other format I’ve commonly seen is where the host selects a singular discussion topic, and attempts to moderate that discussion. Again, this format is fine as far as it goes, but in my experience you are lucky if the topic selected (and the direction of the discussion) piques the interest of more than a quarter of the participants. By contrast, I find this format 1) allows for anyone who feels challenged or curious about a topic to bring it for exploration, and 2) most participants are able to find a topic from the several submitted that resonate with them. The end result are smaller, more intimate, more powerful discussions.

What interests me, however, is not so much the group as the story of how it came to be. During this past spring, I found that my daily meditations were often dominated by thoughts about this as-yet-nonexistent group. I could see it, and found myself during meditations working through details about how it might work. Eventually I got frustrated, wishing that this idea would stop dominating my thoughts so that I could meditate. Then it hit me: the idea dominated my meditations precisely because I was experiencing a call to bring the idea into being.

I would love to tell you that I immediately set about bringing the group into being. The truth is that the idea scared me: it felt too personal, too raw, too vulnerable to put out into the world. If this failed, the failure would hurt a little too much. And so, I stalled.

Perhaps a few weeks later, leaders from my church returned from their annual retreat. They brought a list of ideas they wanted to pursue. After worship that day, I walked around looking at various flip charts to see what the church wanted to pursue. On one of those flip charts I saw a bullet about creating a group aimed at non-members of the church. I can’t explain why, but when I read that bullet I felt as though a lightening bolt struck the back of my neck: somehow, I knew this was a sign from God. It’s one of those feelings you could never prove to a skeptic, but you know it for certain when you feel it.

And so I…did nothing, for several more weeks. The task felt overwhelming: “What if the church thinks my idea sounds crazy? What if they don’t believe I’m capable to leading it? It seems like so much work, especially to get folks to show up, how would I get folks to show up?” I had so many questions and so few answers.

But the idea never went away; it continued to come forward during my meditations. Finally I realized 1) fear was stopping me, and 2) all I needed to do next was go talk to the minister at my church. And so I set an appointment with him.

When we met, I told the truth: how I had this idea of forming a group, how I couldn’t get the idea out of my head (even though part of me wished I could), and how when I saw the goals from the church retreat, I felt a profound sense of alignment. The minister proceeded to lay out what the group had envisioned. Listening to him, I felt as though we had ~85% overlap in vision already. We talked through some details, and aligned on an overall vision.

When I asked for some guidance on how we might get folks to show up, the minister simply said, “we were imagining a Meetup group”. Meetup is a website where folks can go to find activities they wish to join. Theirs struck me as a great idea: if it worked, getting folks to show up would not be a problem.

And so I went home and…stalled some more. “What if no one comes? There is still so much work to do!” Eventually I realized I only needed to take the next step: create the meeting on Meetup. I aligned with the minister on a date and time when I could use the church facilities, and set the event.

Then I got overwhelmed by the idea of preparation. I’m not a particularly crafty person, but I needed some basic signage. And so, I carved out an afternoon, went to an office supply store and purchased some markers and poster board, and came home and handmade the signs I needed. They are not works of art, but they suffice.

Next I sought some moral support. I confided my anxiety to your mom. I told a few close friends about the group. And I asked (begged might be more accurate) a few friends whom I thought might enjoy it to come to the first meeting. The collective moral support helped buttress me.

And then I prepped. I outlined what I would say, the timing and flow of the meeting, the locations I would offer for breakout sessions. I rehearsed the meeting over and over again, such that the day before the meeting, I felt ready.

The day of the first meeting I woke up feeling as though I were plugged into an electrical socket. After dropping the two of you off at school, I went for a walk. Normally I walk for 30-45 minutes; on this day I walked for 90 minutes. After the walk I went to the gym and lifted weights. I could sense that I needed to burn some excess energy in order to normalize for the meeting. I came home and showered, meditated, and journaled. Then I went to the church to set up for the meeting.

I picked the two of you up early from school that day. We came home and had dinner early. And then I bid goodbye to you and your mom and went to prepare myself for the meeting. I did some final setup, then found some space to meditate, just to center myself for the meeting.

My biggest fear was always that no one would show up. To my great surprise, people started to sign up within a day of my posting the meeting. People continued to sign up such that by the day of the event, 27 people had registered. Others had prepared me to expect about 1/3 of registrations to not show up. In the end, 18 people came to the first meeting. Of those, 3 were friends I had personally invited. Another four were members of the church. The rest were folks who had responded to our online open invitation.

The meeting went spectacularly. Folks understood the concept. People submitted 8 topics for discussion. I split the discussions into two time slots of ~40 minutes each, so each time slot allowed folks to choose amongst 4 topics. Each topic garnered between 4 and 7 participants. I elected not to participate in the discussions at the first event, and focus on my role as host and facilitator. But I could sense the conversations were lively. At the end I gathered everyone back together and solicited feedback, and received universally enthusiastic endorsement. I could feel the energy and excitement in the room by the end.

I left that day exhausted, but fulfilled. And then a curious thing happened: I remained fatigued for the next 2 weeks, right up until the next meeting. For the first several meetings, I noticed that the meetings took a lot out of me. As time has gone on, I’ve gotten better at “recovering” from them. Interestingly, I’ve received some similar feedback from some of the participants: that the meetings leave people feeling a spiritual and emotional high, but that the comedown can be somewhat challenging. I suspect some of this to be what Brene Brown refers to as the “vulnerability hangover”: somewhat invariably the group discusses rather intimate topics, and being unusually vulnerable with relative strangers is likely challenging to integrate into daily life.

Attendance at subsequent meetings dwindled slowly until we’ve settled into a rhythm of about 10 participants on average. Of those, we have a core group of 5 that come to most meetings, another group of regulars who come when schedules allow, and we typically get 1-2 newcomers per session. As I have grown more comfortable facilitating and as the group has grown more comfortable with the format, I’ve allowed myself to participate in the discussions, which I’ve particularly enjoyed.

My intuitive sense is that the group is positively impacting the lives of the participants. I’ve received some explicit feedback that reinforces my intuition.

My hope is that the group will eventually grow. Ideally, word-of-mouth would generate interest in more participants joining. Perhaps we might even add additional dates, times, and/or locations to potentially allow more folks the opportunity to join.

Then again, this group has never really been about me; it’s been about my ability to get out of the way and let something flow through me. I tell this story, again, to highlight the role of that little voice in my life. In this particular instance, I tried pretty hard to ignore that voice. Thankfully, God kept tapping me on the shoulder until I listened. I presume the idea was to help me understand, explicitly, how listening to and following that voice might lead me in positive directions. Whatever the purpose, I’m grateful I finally listened, no matter how reluctantly.

I love you both, and I hope you have a little more context on why I went out to “my meeting” one night every couple of weeks.

Love,

Dad

P.S. Yes, the name of the group is Spiritual Stew. The name was the minister’s idea, but it immediately resonated. Like in a stew, our goal is to have the individual participants retain their individuality, autonomy, and authority, but to come together and contribute to the group in a way that produces something beautiful. Personally I think it’s a fabulous metaphor for what the group does.

August 21, 2024

Dear Leland and Everett,

It’s been awhile since my last letter. Not because things haven’t happened or been happening. Perhaps the opposite: I’ve had more ideas than I knew how to capture, and got a bit overwhelmed. I had one letter that felt significant and important; for the first time ever I edited for several days. But I could never bring myself to publish it: it just wasn’t ready.

I’m feeling a little cluttered mentally these days, reminiscent of how I felt before I started writing these letter (though to a lesser degree of severity). I feel as if ideas have been percolating and building, wanting and needing to be expressed. I’m not as clear those ideas want to be expressed through writing (as opposed to other mediums of creativity), but I sense some of them do. We shall see what comes.

Enough throat clearing.

We started a new school year late last week. You are now 4th and 1st graders. I’m astonished how time flies, and yet somehow simultaneously amazed I still get 9 and 12 more years with you before you graduate from high school and presumably move away from home. You are both wonderful boys, and I hope you know how much I love and cherish you. I’m pretty sure you do: you both complain every time I tell you I love you, with Everett specifically protesting “Dad, we already know!”. I presume this means I’m doing something right as a father.

This summer was pretty great. The first week we travelled down to SoCal to visit your Uncle Jack; we made our first trip to San Diego, where we went to the zoo, the beach, and Sea World. A month later we travelled up to Seattle to see your grandparents, aunt and uncle, and cousins; as always, you were enamored spending time and playing games with your cousins. Scattered throughout were camps, including a camp at your school, a sports camp, your first forays into gymnastics, some coding for Everett, and a ‘spy academy’ for Leland.

At the tail end of the summer, we took a family vacation to Las Vegas. Vegas isn’t anyone’s idea of a family destination, but Leland requested it, and your Mom and I are learning to honor Leland’s requests when we can. I still remember how my favorite 3 meals from our trip to Japan came when Leland (and in one instance, Everett) insisted on attending a specific spot, selected as we walked by. Leland, when you really want something, you ask for it in a certain way. In general I try to listen to and honor those requests. Vegas was one of those: you were the one who wanted to go on a family vacation, and convinced your Mom to take the time off of work. You were the one who proposed Las Vegas as the destination. And you both (but especially Leland) helped me plan the whole trip.

This was our first family vacation since we left Singapore. After 5+ years of living in Singapore, your Mom and I were ready to reinvest in our relationships back home. Over the five years we’ve been home, we’ve used our vacations to visit or travel with loved ones. But after five years, it seemed appropriate to take a trip as a family.

Interestingly, trip preparation surfaced some interesting *stuff* between your Mom and me. Your Mom acknowledges that she has negative associations with family vacations due to her dad having a bad attitude and a bad temper. My perception has long been that your mom avoided taking even weekend vacations as a family, to the point where it became a source of frustration and anger for me.

In the lead up to our vacation, I perceived (real or imagined I’m not entirely clear) your mom making efforts to avoid or even sabotage this vacation. In the day or so before the vacation your Mom and I both got triggered, precipitating one of the uglier fights we’ve ever had. Your Mom laid out a recurring but long-buried issue: she doesn’t feel like she can depend on me. In response I laid out my issue: my perception that she’s been avoiding taking a vacation with us. Your mom, to her credit, calmly laid out the evidence contradicting my perception that she’s been avoiding vacationing with us. And I asked her to consider the possibility the reverse was true: that there is plenty of evidence available that I am in fact reliable. We both acknowledged the other’s points, and calmed down.

On the vacation, Everett and Mom got into a pretty big fight. I don’t even remember what started it. But Mom got mad at Everett, and when Mom gets mad, I describe it as a nuclear chain reaction: it just builds and builds, with no apparent ability to shut it down. Everett got mad at Mom for being mad at you (that’s not how you framed it, but that’s what you meant; you have really helped me appreciate how people rarely express their anger toward the thing that really bothers them). Everett’s anger expresses differently from Mom’s: you have a bigger flash of anger at the beginning. But like your Mom, Everett doesn’t really know how to deescalate, other than to go get some space: to your great credit as a 6-year-old, you know when you need to retreat to your room and calm down; you’ll even shout at intruders “I need my space!”. Unfortunately it’s hard to get space to calm down on vacation in Las Vegas.

[As an aside: Leland has a remarkably steady demeanor, rarely expressing anger. Given the big emotional range in the rest of the family, I’m stupefied by Leland’s steady demeanor. As for me, I flash anger rapidly and seemingly out of nowhere, then just as rapidly calm down.]

When we got back to the room I intervened, holding Everett in my lap and calmly talking to you. I explained that you have a temper, and that I think you get it from Ah Gong, your maternal grandfather. I explained that your temper likely reminds your Mom of her dad, which brings back painful memories. I pointed out that your Mom probably has the same temper as both you and Ah Gong, but wasn’t allowed to express her anger as a child lest her dad explode. And so she struggles to manager her temper now, not knowing how to deal with those experiences, but especially not knowing how to process her own child expressing the anger she was routinely forced to swallow at the same age.

Your mom, to her great credit, sat quietly listening. She neither agreed nor disagreed, but calmed down while I spoke. I won’t assume that I was completely accurate, but sense I was close enough to the truth that I helped deescalate the situation for both of you.

After I finished talking and you and your Mom calmed down, I asked Everett to give Mom a hug. Everett walked over to your Mom sitting on the bed. You crawled into her lap, leaning backward against her chest. I pointed out that this wasn’t a hug, and your Mom gently shook her head, giving me a look that said “we got this”. After a few minutes of what seemed like the final stages of deescalation and recalibration, Everett turned around and gave Mom a big, loving hug. It lasted a few seconds: not nearly as long as I would have wanted had I been involved, but apparently long enough for the two of you. And then Everett sat up and said something silly, which set Everett and Mom engaging in playful banter. I realized in that moment how Everett and Mom share a silly side, and the playful banter is partly how you connect with each other.

Overall we had a wonderful, memorable trip. Everyone had fun, everyone was able to be present and enjoy the time. We saw the Jabbawokeez and a mind blowing magic show (your introverted Mom even got called up to the stage as a participant!). We went to a weirdo kids’ exhibit called OmegaMart. We treated you two to ginormous milkshakes (Leland’s had two full-size brownies and was rimmed with chocolate chips held on by chocolate sauce; Everett’s had a rice crispy treat, a pop tart, laffy taffy, and was lined with Fruity Pebbles held on by a vanilla frosting); you were so ecstatic when the shakes arrived…and then you proceeded to eat somewhere between a quarter and a third of them before getting full. We had the fanciest meal of your lives at a Japanese restaurant everyone loved. Leland ate lots and lots and lots of pizza. We had gelato daily or close to it. And we spent copious time in the hotel pool before Leland recognized with maturity and self awareness that belies your years: “I’m bored with the pool”.

Not everything was perfect. The first day especially was insanely hot. Everett got a little too cold in the pool in the mornings, and wanted to be in the hot tub while Leland wanted to be in the pool (it amazes me how Leland runs hot and Everett runs cold). At the frozen bar we visited (with tables, chairs, decorations, and even the glasses made of ice), Leland was over the moon while Everett was frigid. Everything seemed a little too expensive. But overall the trip was incredible, and one of my favorite vacations ever.

My key takeaway from the vacation is that sometimes you have to be willing to *go there* in order to experience the good stuff. I’m convinced that if we hadn’t had the two fights (between your Mom and I, and between Everett and Mom), we wouldn’t have enjoyed the rest of the trip nearly as much as we did. The emotions would have remained under the surface, distracting us from presence and enjoying each other and the experiences around us. Because we let our anger out and were willing to experience it, we were able to clear our frustrations and fully experience the time with each other in a new and exciting place.

As wonderful as the trip was, your Mom and I were ready to come home. I take that as an excellent sign: I’ve always noticed how my attitude on return from vacation portends the overall health and balance in my life. If I really don’t want to go home and back to my daily life, something is deeply wrong and it’s time to make substantial life changes. If I look forward to going home after a wonderful vacation, it implies I’m pretty happy with my day-to-day life; so it was on this trip.

And now we’re back to school. You are enjoying reconnecting with old friends. Your Mom and I are focused on getting back into our routines. We’re trying to figure out what extracurriculars to sign you up for while also looking to catch up on the self-care we’ve let slip during the summer while indulging and spending extra time with you two.

We had a full summer, and I’m satisfied in the belief we experienced it as fully and intentionally as we could. And now, as the seasons start to change, we move into a new mode. Personally I’m looking forward to taking on a few new projects: some small and known, some perhaps bigger and unknown (we shall see).

Whatever happens next, I’m grateful for the summer, for the experiences we shared together, and the opportunity to memorialize and relive it in writing this letter.

Oh, and thank you Leland for asking us to take a family vacation, and for recommending Las Vegas. Once again I’m glad we honored your intuitions: our summer would not have been the same without that wonderful family experience.

I love you both.

Love,

Dad