An Instagram follower shared this ⁠story with me a little while back about the importance of having good friends with the compassion and courage to help us confront ourselves and grow in life. I hope you enjoy it, as much as I enjoyed painting these little buddies!⁠

"Ananda, one of Shakyamuni Buddha's closest disciples, once asked him: 'It seems to me that by having good friends and advancing together with them, one has already halfway attained the Buddha way. Is this way of thinking correct?'⁠

Shakyamuni replied, 'Ananda, this way of thinking is not correct. Having good friends and advancing together with them is not half the Buddhist way but all the Buddhist way.'"⁠

Introducing an adult character, the oxherd boy's grandfather, who I imagine has been a big influence in his life and contributes much to the boy's everyday wisdom.

The boy's grandfather and he together are bookends to the cycle of life and learning. The spiritual path is not a journey to somewhere new, but a mental return trip to where one is originally from, a recognition of where he has been all along. Ultimately, the grandfather settles on a simple truth at the end of his life, that to be with one another, to mean something to one another is the greatest honor life can afford.

My son likes to pay his respects at various temples we pass on the way to and from school. I think the rituals are fun for him, and he finds the gods and deities interesting to look at. Explaining religion to him is a bit of a challenge for me, because I didn't grow up with worship as a large part of my life. So, today's chat is inspired by Confucian philosophy. ⁠

Rather than look to "otherworldly sources of spiritual values," Confucian philosophy holds human relationships to be sacred. Each of us is fundamentally good, and capable of developing our moral nature through communal effort and self-cultivation of the Five Constants (五常): ⁠

• Compassion⁠
• Justice⁠
• Propriety⁠
• Wisdom
• ⁠Integrity⁠

The goal of Confucian philosophy is to create a world -- government, families, citizens -- centered on morals. Our world is constantly changing, and while we can never predict what the future will bring, nor what situations we find ourselves in, Confucianism argues that if we have a strong foundation in recognizing right from wrong, and create a society that promotes right over wrong, then humanity should be able to make good decisions and do right by each other.⁠

All of this is kind of ironic, because Confucianism now has a reputation of being an extremely traditional, rigid, and ritualistic philosophy... not to mention anti-women, so I'll just take the core of its teaching and leave the rest.

Kelly Corrigan recently shared a line that I think came from David W. Augsburger: "Listening is so close to love most people can't tell the difference." She goes on to share a rhetorical question from her youth: "Are we really communicating or are we just taking turns talking?"

Listening is probably the most underrated action that can transform a relationship. It is the bridge to understanding, and understanding makes space for love.

We're often reminded that actions speak louder than words, that words can be empty promises. But today, I am grateful for words that are born from kindness and carry the spirit of love and hope. I've been re-reading some of my favorite books lately and finding much comfort in doing so. This variation of Natsuki Takaya's saying focuses on that aspect of the power of words.⁠

Sometimes when my son experiences moments of personal turmoil and anguish, all I want to do is take away his pain and discomfort. While that is one method of approaching a problem, it's also worth noting the value in making room for discomfort, to allow him the full breadth of his feelings to develop and run their course.

When I jump immediately to action, the signal I'm sending is to be afraid of his discomfort, to change, avoid, or suppress it as quickly as possible. I'm sending a signal that there's not enough room in the world for his experience, when more often than not, I think there is. And there is a chance to be connected with another person through their pain and suffering, which is why compassion is not the cessation of pain, but rather to ability to accompany someone else in said pain.

I've been thinking about love recently, and how everyone feels loved in different ways. Some enjoy receiving tokens of affection like gifts, while others crave a Not applicable bond like hugs, or maybe someone feels most valued when you spend time with them working together on a project.

Sometimes I've felt frustrated when my friends or family don't understand how I interpret love, but maybe I would do better to just appreciate their love for what it is -- imperfect though it may seem -- because any expression of love will be imperfect given the limitations of language and understanding. But it doesn't make love any less still real.⁠

Albert Camus said, "Man is the only creature who refuses to be what he is."

There is always something else to do, some other way to act or talk or dress or think, that we struggle with in order to be "better." So isn't it funny that we have such impossible standards for ourselves and a completely different standard for animals -- like dogs, for instance -- a standard that is based on universal generosity?

From my understanding, there is no real competition on whether someone's dog is better than another's. When someone says, "My dog is the best!" does anyone actually feel threatened by those claims? For the most part, we smile. We delight at the relationship they have with their dog. We curiously ask for more details. We share in their joy. But turn that around and when someone says, "I'm the best!" or "My boyfriend is the best!" or "My mom is the best!" we find ourselves balking at such boastful claims or end up comparing our own lives and relationships, worrying that we somehow fall short.

I wonder: What does it take for a dog to be the best dog to his owner? Maybe a dog only has to be himself, be with his owner. Maybe a dog only has to accompany his owner in life. A dog needs only to be present to be the best.

I also wonder: Wouldn't it be so much kinder if we believed that to be the best person is to do the same? If all we needed to do to be our best is to show up and just be there for ourselves and the people in our lives with complete presence of mind without thinking we need to be different or be somewhere else or doing something else?

For instance, when I ask myself what my son might remember in years to come as things that made me the "best mom," I doubt he will recall that I mended his school uniforms or kept the house clean or arranged the classiest Christmas decorations. My guess is he'll remember that I sat with him everyday as he worked on his homework, showing me proudly how to write a certain character in Mandarin. Or he'll remember our water fight as he rinsed dishes with me after dinner. Or maybe, he'll remember playing make believe, pretending to be Santa placing pretend presents under the tree while Mom and Dad acted as little children sleeping away on Christmas Eve.

The demands of being "the best" can feel never ending, and so I have to decide where to draw the line. I have to decide what the ending looks like. For right now, it's about being there for my family when we are together and not longing for something different. Maybe the ending looks different for you, because of other demands on your time and energy, because of circumstances out of your control. And that's OK.

Let's leave comparison behind. We can all be "the best" and not take away from each other's glory. In fact, I believe that by being our best, we add to our collective contentment -- when I am my best, and you're your best, we are all better off together.