Words inspired by Confucius as quoted from The Analects

"[A good man] does not worry about not being known by others but rather worries about not knowing them." - Confucius

I think many of us raised in the Western tradition has heard the quote attributed to Socrates, "Know thyself" as the first step to wisdom. By the same token, to know oneself seems to me to be a foundational exercise to knowing someone else. When I know who I am, how I came to be, how and why I act, react, and behave in certain ways with both honesty and kindness, I become more equipped to lend the same curiosity, study, and awareness toward those around me. Most importantly, I become better at listening.

So often, I find myself wanting to be heard, to be understood and not misinterpreted that all that matters is to hear my own voice, to project my own perspective, to clarify my own intention. George Orwell once said that "Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be understood." Well, what happens when everybody prioritizes this for himself over love? Is there a chance for mutual awareness? Is there ultimately more understanding? My guess is that people end up even more dissatisfied with their relationships.

And so I want to begin by knowing myself. When I know myself, maybe it won't matter so much if someone doesn't understand me. It's not always in my control, but what I can choose to do is try to understand them. Broadening my understanding of anyone I come into contact with can be only more food for wonder, for compassion, for connection and love. So, why not?

Modern society teaches us that anything worthwhile doesn't come easily. We are always told that the good things in life take hard work. We have to work hard, study hard, play hard, and if we fail or fall short, we must try harder, practice harder, become harder. Everything hard, hard, hard... because life is hard.

As a result, I found that I got in the habit of approaching nearly everything in life as a confrontation, as something to conquer or overcome. Moreover, I assumed that if I didn't apply much effort at something, then there was something wrong, there was some kind of catch.

This was a pattern I fell into in my romantic relationships for many years. I had heard the narrative of couples working hard to stay together against all odds. The stories I heard as a child like "The Little Mermaid" and "Romeo and Juliet," all seemed to convey the same thing. If you really love someone, you fight to stay together. As I grew older, I seemed to pay attention to those narratives that upheld that belief. I was surrounded by stories of how difficult it was to maintain a relationship or marriage for decades. I received advice on working hard to communicate and of the necessity to sacrifice for each other. As a result, I felt that I couldn't leave a relationship when I felt it wasn't a good fit, because I was under the impression that I could just work on it until it did.

I was compelled to put huge effort into my relationships from the beginning in a way that set them perpetually off balance. This had become such a pattern for me, that when I started getting to know my now husband, it felt so weird and wrong at how easy and effortless it was to just be with him. It made it difficult to trust him and the relationship, because I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I often found myself pulling away, because I felt like I wasn't in control.

And I think that's one pitfall of the narrative of "working hard" can play out in our lives. We've set the expectation that life is hard, and so if we're not working hard at life, then we're somehow doing it wrong. Of course, relationships can hit rough patches, especially when under external stress factors. I am not blind to those truths, and my marriage is not immune to them either. There are many aspects of life that are extremely difficult. Moreover, life in general is unfair, and some of us have harder lives than others. But at the same time, let us ask ourselves: Is there still space for joy? Is there still space for grace? Or mercy? Or softness? Can we not make things more difficult than they have to be?

For most of us in most situations, the answer will always be yes. No matter how difficult, boring, sad, or painful something is, there is always room to introduce a little space for joy in our hearts. I'm not talking about blind optimism; I'm referring to making a little crack in the rigidity of our hard mindset, a crack that may seem to make us weaker, but ultimately is, as Leonard Cohen says, what lets the light in. The Dalai Lama also taught something similar, that no matter how difficult a situation, there is always room to be kind. And even the Seven Dwarves in Disney's "Snow White" showed a whole generation how to whistle while we work.

Here, in this week's comic, I've drawn the oxherd boy, weighed down by responsibility of looking after a young friend, while defending his lunch from far-too-interested chickens. Yet he still maintains a heart that doesn't crackle with toxic positivity, but reflects an imperturbable ease that I hope to bring forth in my daily life and that of my son, especially now that he's in school. The academic environment and tradition in Taiwan is very competitive, and while I recognize the value of applied discipline, at the same time, I try to remind my son: where is the joy in studying? If he can find it, then studying may not become as hard as we fear.

What do you think about the idea of working hard versus working cheerfully? Do you do one more often than the other, and if so, when?

It bears reminding that each of us has a song in our hearts. It doesn’t have to be a happy song or any kind of song, but a song nonetheless that no one can sing but ourselves.⁠

Inspired by Antonio Machado's "Traveller, there is no path"

Traveller, the path is your tracks⁠
And nothing more.⁠
Traveller, there is no path⁠
The path is made by walking.⁠
By walking you make a path⁠
And turning, you look back⁠
At a way you will never tread again⁠
Traveller, there is no road⁠
Only wakes in the sea.⁠

Flying a kite is an exercise in life: a balance in command and release, to give into the direction of the wind, to maintain enough tension to stay above the earth while being flexible enough to respond to sudden changes that can send you crashing down. The one who flies the kite is not an enemy, a conqueror of the wind, but rather its partner. Working in tandem with forces beyond our control is how our lives stay afloat.

I've noticed in the many ways in which I try to encourage the spirit of generosity in my son as an antidote to the way his ego naturally expresses itself by indulging in selfishness. I thank him when he buses the family's dishes to the sink after a meal. I beam at him and point out how kind and thoughtful he was for noticing that someone had dropped their glove and returning it to them.

In a functioning society, the act of giving is placed higher than that of receiving. To receive something to one's advantage may be considered natural or instinctual; and because of that, is considered "lower" in executive function than to give. But with that perspective, it can feel like a tricky line to walk, because the ego -- learning that generosity and service is valuable currency for social acceptance -- can just as easily use these to further its own gain, couldn't it?

I think about what Ram Dass had said of his work with people who are dying: "I must tell you that it’s a very seductive power to be doing good for other people."

And I think he's right. I've fallen into the "white savior" trope myself for the volunteer work I did as a young adult in the Global South. I felt embarrassed for it afterwards and have spent the better part of the last fifteen years over-analyzing every act of service, activism, or giving that I engaged in with questions like:

• "Is this really kindness?"
• "What is my real motivation behind getting involved?"
• "Am I the right person to be performing it?"
• "Should I just do nothing so they don't mistake my intention?"

As annoyingly time-consuming and energy-draining these mental cartwheels have been, they have been absolutely necessary for me to get a better feel for when generosity comes from a place of innocence, "from the soul" so to speak, and when it comes from a place of obligation or ego.

I might still engage in both, but those that come from innocence is where there is the most powerful potential for connection. On service, Ram Dass continues to say that in performing an act of good for others, "If you are awake to what your predicament is, all the good you are doing to other people is nothing other than work on yourself. It is not an ‘either/or’ position."

A single act becomes not just good for someone else, it is -- in fact -- good for me, too. In this act of generosity borne of my self-awareness and the awareness of another, there is no distinction between the giver and the receiver. I think that's how selflessness manifests in the world. To be selfless in this sense isn't really thinking only of another person, or not thinking of oneself. It's to completely do away with the definition of a distinct self at all. It's to remove any perception of separation between two beings. There is no one helping an other. There is only the act that is both giving and receiving.

"Self care" is an interesting concept to consider, especially from a Buddhist perspective that teaches us the self doesn't actually exist. If that's the case, then what does Buddhism have to say about taking care of ourselves?

In part of the story of Siddhartha and his path to enlightenment, he renounces his position of prosperity and wealth in order to practice extreme asceticism. He refuses all worldly comforts, including basic necessities like food and drink, with the intention of transcending the limitations of our existence. It is said that he became so weakened and emaciated that he could no longer participate in his practice and was saved only by accepting an offering of kheer (rice pudding). Though in choosing to eat, drink, and nurture his body, Siddhartha was ostracized and looked down upon by the ascetics, the experience supported his way to understanding the Middle Path.

Just as we can't gain perspective or alleviate our suffering through extreme hedonism, neither can we do so with extreme denial. The Buddhist perspective of self teaches us that it is a meeting point of many things: matter, processes, environment, thoughts, feelings, experiences, relationships, etc. all interacting with one another to give rise to an ever changing, conscious form.Self care, from the Buddhist perspective, is therefore not to glorify the self or drown out our fear and pain with enjoyment, but rather to provide the fuel necessary for the self to do the greatest good for the longest time that it can.

For instance, let's say that I normally budget $100 a month of various spa treatments to help me relax and look my best. It could be a facial, nail treatments, or a massage. At the end of two weeks, my nails are chipped again, and by the end of the month, my neck and shoulder pain are back from all the stress I've accumulated. Maybe I should wonder why I feel constantly stressed in the first place. Maybe I can examine more deeply into why it's important for my appearance to look a certain way. Instead of spending $100 a month for these services, I wonder what difference I can make if I put the funds toward counseling services instead.

In a different example, let's say I spend an hour and half every week visiting a friend at her house, watching a reality TV show together over a bottle of wine. We laugh at the contestants, ridicule the manufactured drama, and complain about work. By the end of the night, I feel superior to complete strangers whose lives are a bigger mess than my own and somehow know nothing more on how my friend is doing except what she has to complain about. I wonder would the time be better spent just going for a twenty-minute walk together instead. Would we feel more connected with our town, exploring the streets, greeting neighbors in passing? Would our bodies be healthier for the exercise? Would I have more to talk about with my friend, using the time as a chance to learn about how her family is doing or what hobbies she wants to pursue?

There are many ways in which we can take care of ourselves, but there are differences between hiding our pain or distracting ourselves from our own discomfort, and creating balance in our lives. It may not seem like much, but we can always do small things every day that make huge, long-term differences. And that makes them not so small after all.

Inspired by George Bernard Shaw⁠

After I finished university, I turned down an opportunity to work in corporate finance for a large defense company. Instead, I ended up taking a job as a micro-business advisor to a women's association. I lived in a town of less than 60 families, a 5-hour hike through the mountains to the nearest town with an internet connection, a bank, and a hospital. ⁠

I thought I'd find myself there, but I didn't.⁠ I thought that becoming the opposite of who I was would be the answer, but it wasn't.⁠

Our true selves are not walking around outside of us, somewhere for us to discover -- complete and whole. We are the accumulation of decisions, actions, words, changes, and connections that we make. If you're not happy with where you are today, just realize that it's not necessary to rebel like I did. The change you seek can be clarified with honest reflection, small investments in time and curiosity about yourself and your relationship to the world around you.⁠

Welcome back, as I resume new comics this month! Over the summer, I came across a story from a woman named Torria on "Humans of New York." She said of her childhood, "I was just going through so much, you know. Horrible things were being done to me. Horrible, terrible things. So I’d use whatever I could. I’d pay attention to anything that made me happy. That’s one thing I can do: pay attention. It comes from something within me. We all have it. But you know, I tap into it. I still do. I just took a picture of a flower this morning. I’m so grateful. I’m telling you, I’m so grateful that I came out of the darkness. Maybe my journey wasn't to make money or to be successful or anything. It was just to recover."

I just read and re-read that statement, and came back to it weeks and even months later: "My journey wasn't to make money or to be successful or anything. It was just to recover."

And it brought to mind how unfair life can be. How different our experiences are, how due to "man's fault" -- the fault of humanness, our ability to inflict unspeakable pain on someone, to plunge another being into darkness -- someone might never fulfill some potential for greatness. It's just not fair.

There is no known reason that I can understand which explains why I was born into the life I have, and the opportunities availed to me, while somewhere else, another woman who might have been a greater artist, a more heart-touching poet, or a more nurturing mother, is struggling to keep herself alive in a civil war.

I can't judge the world on the basis of fairness. It would break my heart and drive me crazy with anguish every time. Instead, I've been trying to look at it from the Confucian perspective that each of us must simply "discharge one's duties" in life. I return to Torria and how the darkness of her childhood kept her in shadows from which she was lucky to emerge. Michael Meade says, "The fateful event of being wounded early in life creates the need for a deep healing process that becomes the path of awakening for each person." No, it wasn't fair that she suffered through such darkness. It was wrong, and she deserved better. And at the same time, she discharged her duty to herself to recover. And who can say that that's not enough? It's more than enough. It's amazing.

So what is the implication for someone whose "path of awakening" is more accessible? I guess I, too, must discharge my duties be responsible to myself and because I have the means, to live beholden to those around me. No, I can't make life fair, and I can't make the whole world just, but I can make some good for others through good work. And maybe that's all that I should expect.

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.

It's easy to feel overwhelmed by the enormity of all there is to do for our world. But what small things we can do every day is how we get there, so don't stop. Keep going. You can make a difference.

Inspired by Saint Theresa de Avila

From a young age, so many children are asked what they want to be when they grow up, what they want to do with their lives, as though life were something to "do" -- something to mold to one's will -- rather than the canvas, the clay, the creator, and the process all rolled together and unfolding at the same time.

So maybe the deeper, more worthy challenge is not how to achieve as much as possible, but rather how to live with maximum love.

In an age when human hearts and minds face unprecedented exposure to large-scale suffering, I often find myself feeling paralyzed and powerless, angry at my own inability to effect sweeping lasting change towards freedom, justice, and mercy.

It's a humbling realization to accept the limitation of human will, and yet as Johann Wolfgang von Goethe said, "Let everyone sweep in front of his own door, and the whole world will be clean." There are likely many wars not started because someone did sweep in front of his one door. He or she did perform any number of small acts of goodness within their circle of influence, and maybe that's the difference that ultimately matters.

I can't think of progress without also thinking of its sister, patience. Progress without patience is a battle half won. Progress -- whether from an individual, communal, or societal perspective -- is nonlinear. ⁠

Sometimes it feels like we're not moving forward at all. Sometimes it even feels like we're even going backwards. However, our desire and hastiness to better ourselves and our world can lead to more pain, frustration, anger, and suffering when we find ourselves confronted with obstacles or failures. ⁠

Have faith, take heart, and be patient with yourself and with others.