From Inter-generational Rapport to Inter-personal Relations

While dropping our S off at UF yesterday at the conclusion of his spring break, he introduced his future (as in the coming fall) roommate, Charles, to us. Charles hails from Orlando and is a pre-med freshman. So we took the opportunity to elicit from him some first-hand information on the requirements and course loads for enrolling in the pre-med program, the GPA and the Medical College Admission Test (MCAT) requirements to get into the medicine program eventually, and some recommended plan of attack. Charles, seen here to the left, was of course most helpful. Thanks, Charles.

Then we visited our old friend, Lin, and his family, who have made Gainesville their home after graduating from UF. It so happened that his son, Edward, a UF undergraduate, was there too. Edward was a childhood friend of our D at Oregon, when both Lin’s family and mine were staying at Corry Village back in the early 1990s.

As is the case with the mother of William Poy Lee as blogged here, Lin has tried to bring up his son, Edward, as a Chinese at heart. Also as with most Asian parents, he has great expectations for Edward, and in the process, may have been over-zealous in proscribing how Edward should prepare to seek out his career path. On the other hand, Edward, being educated through the American system that emphasizes thinking on one’s own, has his personal way of visualizing his future, and would like to strike out the way he deems fit.

That the two paths, spawned by inter-generational differences in worldview, are seldom in congruence is not necessarily surprising, nor is it decidedly undesirable, provided the line of communication continues to be open, and the tone of exchange frank and respectful, each trying to understand the other better.

Being a father myself, I know it’s difficult to acquiesce to our children (they always are in our eyes though they may be young adults)’s point of view, especially when we are convinced that we have seen more than they have had the opportunity to be exposed to, and, hence, know what’s best for them (or rather our version of them). But sometimes we just have to step aside and let them lead their lives, and let them make their fair share of mistakes (hopefully, nothing that would be unduly consequential). But only after we have said what we have to say, not out of the urge to control/dictate, but out of our love for them and bringing to bear the benefits of our experience. Otherwise, we would have failed in our duty both as a father and as a friend to our children.

Through his interactions, sometimes perhaps less than amicable, with Edward, Lin has come to realize that his tendency to talk down to his son may not have helped matters. So he has written using Chinese calligraphy a couplet that would serve to remind him of the need to be careful with his words and to maintain poise as shown here.

Similar in spirit are the following sage advice from Deepak Chopra, whom I’ve blogged earlier here, as excerpted from an interview that appeared in today’s Tampa Tribune (Baylife, p. 1 and 6):

On self improvement:
Anything you do, any choice you make, make it out of love. The best way you can feel good about yourself is to make someone else feel good.

On his successful marriage of 36 years (or any relationship between human beings, I would add): Complete abandonment of trying to control or manipulate the other person. Concentrate on affection, attention, appreciation, gratitude, love, and compassion.

May we all take the above to heart and make this world a better place for all.

Tethering the Monkey and Reining in the Horse

One of the books I’m reading now is Life After Death: The Burden of Proof by Deepak Chopra, which I finally managed to lay my hand on via a local public library loan after a substantial period of being on the waiting list. That by itself certainly attests to the popularity of the book.

This is the very first book by Deepak Chopra that I actually pore through its pages, a few pages a day. To him, life and death, which to some of us signifies the end of the road, is one continuous creative project. “At the end of our lives, we “cross over” into a new phase of the same soul journey we are on right this minute,” so says on the inside flap of the book cover. But there are caveats, which are reflected in his urgent message below, so continues the inside flap:

“Who you meet in the afterlife and what you experience there reflect your present beliefs, expectations, and level of awareness. In the here and now you can shape what happens after you die.”

So turns the giant karmic wheel of life, and afterlife. This is accountability at the most basic and individualistic level. Good karma comes from being good as in being virtuous, and vice versa. And bad deeds are only offset by good merits, but not written off, and accrue over a single lifetime.

Yesterday I reached the preamble to Chapter 5: The Path to Hell, which tells the story of a monkey who was kept captive in a small room in a castle tower, and who grew restless by the minutes.

At first, he was distracted by the view outside. Then his thoughts started to dwell on his predicament, raising questions why he was so confined. Failing to come out with any answer, his mood grew sombre. Claustrophobia set in. Perspiring profusely, the monkey felt like in a cauldron buried deep in a dungeon, the infernal fire striking up a hellish heat and demons imparting unbearable pain.

After what seemed like an eternity, the monkey grew accustomed to the ordeal and his mind started to drift to the fact that no one was bothering him and the realization that the view out there could be enjoyable too.

Encouraged by the seeming well-being, he started to harbor more positive thoughts as the demons spirited away. In time, he was so buoyed that he found himself ascending to, where else, paradise, pampered by doting angels.

Now the monkey thinks he is in eternal bliss, the diametrical opposite of abyssal hell, until he gets bored again, and you know where the story is headed, intones Deepak Chopra.

And yes, the parable has its human parallels: “The monkey is the mind, sitting alone in the tower of the head,” the book declares. Here I think is best not to paraphrase like what I’ve done above, but rather defer to the story teller that is Deepak Chopra:

“As the mind expands with pleasure and contracts with pain, it creates every possible world, constantly falling for its own creations. The monkey will believe in heaven for a while, but then boredom will set in, and being the seed of discontent, boredom will pull him out of heaven and back down to hell.”

So are we then caught in a perpetual flip-flop or roller coaster ride? The ever eloquent Deepak Chopra, by way of the character of Ramana, the ascetic monk, answers with an emphatic NO:

“Only if you agree to be trapped. I didn’t say the tower was locked. There is an infinite domain outside the castle walls. You can take your mind beyond walls. There is freedom outside, and having achieved it, you will never have to go to heaven or hell again.”

That reminds me of a Chinese proverb that likens the heart to a monkey, and the mind, to a horse. The former is restless, swinging from tree to tree while the latter is galloping out of control. We need to tether the monkey and put a rein on the horse. And we will be able to see everything in a whole new light.