What do you like to do?

I keep thinking about Sheryl Sandberg’s book Lean In.  While I agree with a lot of what she said, my prevailing reaction remains, “Yes, but so what?”  A ‘Free to Be You and Me’-loving slow reader with an ambitious nightstand stack who turns the corners of her books and still likes paper to do lists is my kind of expert.  Yet, while I relate to Sandberg on some levels, appreciate her candor and don’t take issue with most of her book, I think she’s missing the point.  She is providing reasonable advice for an old paradigm.  “Leaning in” or “reclining” as a recent NY Times OpEd encouraged doesn’t really matter because it doesn’t address the fundamental societal problem we all face.  Until men and women alike stop defining ourselves and each other by what we do for a living, there will be no effective progress toward mitigating an existential crisis masquerading as a business problem.    

The limiting factor in the whole debate — the mommy wars, breaking glass ceilings, affirmative action, helicopter parenting and the crisis in education to name a few — centers around our insistence upon evaluating and judging our worth and that of others by our jobs and professions.  Yes, knowing what someone does gives an easy line of questioning and a relational hook, but usually limits the conversation to a superficial level.  Some people are lucky to find a career that enables them to live their purpose, where work and life are so seamless that there is no difference between ‘who they are’ and ‘what they do.’ But for most people, the job is a means to support a life and is only one aspect of what makes that person interesting and worthwhile. 

For ‘stay-at-home’ mothers, particularly those who are well-educated and previously on ambitious career tracks but choose to take some time off to enjoy their kids and support their families, one of the least expected but hardest elements is that people stop asking you questions.  People don’t know what you know about, so they don’t know what to ask.  That, or they smile, pat you on the shoulder and say “You have the hardest job in the world.” Nothing fuels the mommy wars more than this patronizing sentence.  

Getting to know a person for who they are instead of what they do takes work, but here’s a suggestion for how to start.   This is the first blog post I ever wrote, but without naming the players.  In this context, I share this experience again in hopes of adding a lot more likes to the conversation.  Please try this one time this week and see what happens:

I will forever have a special place in my heart for Chris Martin, lead singer of Coldplay and husband of Gwyneth Paltrow, but not for the reason you might think.  Sure he’s a great musician, but it is the lesson he taught me with one little word that will indelibly link him in my mind to gracefulness.

I met Gwyneth through my mother who is a Christian mystic and contributor to Gwyneth’s website GOOP.  She kindly invited me to her home a few times and on one particular afternoon, Chris happened to be there too.  Having been forewarned that he was on voice rest after completing his latest album so I shouldn’t expect him to say much, I was surprised when he sat down to lunch in his backyard, turned to me and asked,

“What do you LIKE to do?” 

With the addition of that one simple word, “LIKE” — a word I’m usually trying to erase from my family’s California born and bred vocabulary — he so chivalrously lay down his cloak, welcoming me to step daintily across that first impression hurdle.  With that one word the possibilities were opened and Chris got a real answer.  

“Well,” I gulped.  I decided to go for it. 

“I like to take my children on adventures to exotic places near our adopted home in Hong Kong.  I like to cook and have friends over to enjoy it with me.  I like to run, hike and do yoga.  I like to write, but I’m not as good at it as I’d like.  I like to read, travel, organize things, explore and most of all, to stay connected to my good friends.” 

“What kind of yoga do you do?  Because your arms are very fit,” he replied.  I liked that question too.

With that one word, he spared me that awful other question that stay-at-home moms have not yet figured out how to answer with the force and authority we used to be able to muster when we “really worked.” Had he asked me, “What do you do?” my answer would have been an apologetic jumble of volunteer parent advisory groups, girl scouts, glorified travel agent and bus driver for my family, that trailed off with, “You, know, that kind of stuff.” Just think for a moment how much better his question is, and what a difference it could make if we all added “LIKE” to our vocabulary in the right places. 

And, it was a good thing he had built up some good will with that question, because I had a bit more trouble answering his next one.

“Are all bankers assholes?” he asked. 

“Well,” I gulped. 

Tashi Delek – A Journey to Bhutan, Part IV, Homeward Bound

Retracing our steps, working our way back to Paro over the course of the next three days, we had a chance to shop, check our email, reflect and regroup in now familiar Thimpu.  Our official meetings were finished, but there was still work to be done.


The drive back between Punakha and Thimpu could not have been more different from our previous summit days before.  This time the sky was blue and, as we reached Dochula we had a 360 degree view of the Himalayas all around us.  As we waited for the pass to open, we explored the 108 chortens build by the Queen mother commemorating those lost in a brief skirmish with India in 2003 as well as the temple built in honor of the 4th Druk Gyalpo which contained paintings by Karma Ura.


Returning to where it all began outside Paro, on our last day we climbed to Tiger’s Nest.  At my regular pace it would have taken about an hour, but for our group it took three.  Slowly we ascended, savoring the now comfortable conversation as much as the view.  I worked consciously not to make the destination the whole goal as we meandered our way up, catching glimpses of Takshang on a competing peak across the deep divide.  After finally reaching Takshang’s elevation, the path turns toward the mountain face and one must descend hundreds of steps only to climb back up to the final destination perched impossibly on the cliff above.


Dedicated to Guru Padmasambhava Rimpoche the tantric mystic who brought Buddhism to Bhutan and who flew on a tigress and landed on that sacred spot that is said to resemble a dagger, Takshang defies all reason.   To build the foundation, Regent Tenzin Rabgye mixed hair with flour and water and tossed it out.  Where it stuck, they placed small stones, then larger and larger stones on top until the foundation emerged.  Despite two significant fires in the 20th century that destroyed documents and most of the temples, the foundation and the statue of Guru Padmasambhava Rimpoche survived unharmed.  Taksang was rebuilt upon the original foundation.

Inside Taksang, the new Abbot welcomed and served us tea and biscuits before giving us a personal tour of several of the 11 temples, two of which are closed to outsiders because visitors might bring bad omens and cause harm.  The primary temple is built around an auspicious and powerful cave that is accessible only to the most senior of monks and only at certain times of the year.  The rest of the time an imposing face festooned with offerings blocks the entrance.  In this temple, those who have powers charge the place while others receive. We sat before the statue in a light filled temple as many, many pilgrims, including a beautiful young boy with glasses in a gold gho earnestly worshiped.


The descent was much faster, even with a quick stop for tea along the way, and we got to the bottom to find Namgyel, back from a quick trip to India, waiting.  It was like greeting an old friend.  He drove us back to the guesthouse where we had our final meal together and then Gembo offered his final surprise, a culture show.  Performers in elaborate costumes shared cultural heritage through song and dance and even got us up dancing.


After the show, our group attempted a wrap up session, but it was the least successful initiative we undertook on the trip.  Too many emotions, thoughts, ideas, feelings swirled and the energy was too solemn.   Overwhelming gratitude to our hosts clouded our ability to rationally analyze the important elements of the trip and to lighten up and just talk.  At least that’s how I felt.  We said goodnight and turned our attention to the mundane tasks of packing for our departure, reasoning that for a reflective bunch such as us, the meaning would reveal when it did.

Despite continual togetherness for eleven days, we never really established the true impetus for the generous invitation and treatment we received on this journey.  Gembo told us on our first night together that learning other traditions equips you with a way to see your own culture.  That Bhutan has the desire to slow down the process of modernization and to maintain the culture, tradition, way of living and whatever is possible of the values and the goodness that Bhutan has as it modernizes. To do so well, they need right intervention and good decisions in their leadership.  Values must be in the heart of any good decision maker.  A perpetual student and curious to a fault, Gembo reasoned that experienced teachers of Christianity can link values and teach as well as learn from each other so as to eventually walk on same path, aligned.

Gembo, Sabina and Namgyel took us to the airport the following morning.  We bid farewell with promises to keep in touch, hearts heavy with gratitude for the experience of a lifetime.  While we all went to Bhutan for our own reasons, collectively something big happened.   The group is just now getting around to putting thoughts on paper in a much more reflective way than mine.

Returning to the beginning of the journey, I can only offer that the essence of an artichoke is its heart, and is fiercely protected.  It isn’t immediately obvious and takes hard work to reach.  Whoever was the first to discover the sweet reward of an artichoke must have been wise and persistent; patient, purposeful and resolute.  All qualities I hope I gained a little on this journey.  The deepest and most profound moments and stories of our trip are like that artichoke, protected, and hidden deep within…for now.  I will write them, maybe for a book one day and only at the grace and agreement of those involved.  For now I hope that these tales give you some of those tasty morsels on the outside and a desire to dig deeper with me, eventually, to the heart.

To Gembo and Sabina, all I can say is “Name same kadin chhe.”  Thank you beyond the sky and earth.


“Tiger Mother” or “Panda Mom,” they both face extinction.

Re-posting in recognition of International Women’s Day today.

I wrote this a few years ago as the Tiger Mother phenomenon was raging.  It still reflects my thoughts on parenting:

As an American woman living in Hong Kong, so far away from family and friends, I rely on Facebook not only as a way to keep in touch, but as a pulse point for news.  You would have thought that a revolution had started when I turned on my computer to find no fewer that a dozen friends had posted links to a Wall Street Journal article entitled, “Why Chinese Mothers are Superior” by Amy Chua.   While Ms. Chua makes a very strong case for the Tiger Mother that I must admit did explain some play date behavior and made the hairs on my neck bristle at the “everybody gets a trophy” liberal parenting camp, the pressure cooker approach she espouses is bound to blow.

A wise friend in…

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Tashi Delek – A Journey to Bhutan, Part III


As we climbed toward Dochula on a winding, bumpy, unfinished road that connects Thimpu and Punakha, our driver Dorji jockeyed for position around a continual stream of anthropomorphic dump trucks.  After about 30 minutes we began to see snow and by the time we reached the 3150 m peak we were in a white out.  We couldn’t see a thing, but we were happy to stop and have a little lunch at the rustic café at the top.  A group of American students on an Interim trip from Singapore American School engaged in rollicking snowball fight. We ate a simple lunch, discussed rewiring consciousness in Christianity (as you do) and headed down the other side of the mountain to the breadbasket of Bhutan.  Arriving in Punakha we went for tea and again engaged in a philosophical discussion, this time of sin and karma.  Wow, Gembo’s intellectual stamina is formidable.  I thought my head would explode during some of our teachings, as I just couldn’t take it all in.


Gembo consciously chose places for us to stay that were not tourist hotels. Perched a solid 30 minutes above the main road into town, the local family farmhouse on three acres he carefully selected for us was a complete delight.  It was not at all fancy, but gave us the experience of living in a Bhutanese family home.  The family went to considerable lengths to make us comfortable and though we were sometimes chilly, the beds she bought for our visit were warm and cozy and we had everything we needed.  We were invited into her efficient kitchen when we arrived and we sat cross-legged on mats around the wood stove as we sipped hot sweet milk tea.  Using ingredients from her garden and her cow, our hostess created wonderful meals she served in the main room of the farmhouse.


As half of our group is Christian clergy, Sunday morning we had our own little Eucharist in the farmhouse before we headed out for our meetings.  This was a first for all of us, as Gembo and Lam joined us for the service.  With this simple ritual our group had reached a new level of intimacy and trust.  It was another beautiful moment to add to the list.  Our lovely breakfast was a meat porridge and brown rice with cilantro, onion, garlic, ginger and chilies.  My new favorite.


Tucked behind the stunning 17th century Punakha Dzong is a small government ministry building where we spent many hours over the course of the next two days.  The main meeting room, elaborately painted in yellow and orange clouds topped by ornate dragonheads, is furnished with stately couches and low tables.  His Eminence, Letshog Lopen Rinpoche, is one cool monk.  He radiated confidence as he breezed into the room with authority wearing darkened shades and sporting a small mustache and long, thin Confucian beard.  A scholar, philosopher and administrator, he was curious about our group and why we had come to Bhutan, and put Gembo through the paces translating all that he had to say.

Sabina’s opening questions always set the tone for our meetings, demonstrating that we were here as practitioners and here to learn.  Her skill earned our group respect and deepened the level of the conversations and interest in exchanging views.  With closed eyes he would listen to our questions, then come alive with philosophical responses such as likening creation/realization to tasting an apple.  Explaining that the taste itself is creation/realization, but when we talk of tasting, the processes that leads to tasting are the foundational steps and equally important as is tasting itself.  Priming soil, planting the seed, water, sunlight, time… all of these elements prepare for that moment of tasting.  To achieve Mahamudra, therefore, all steps are practices, attained within one’s mind along the path.  Got it?  After two intense hours of discussion, we shared a quiet catered lunch and then he abruptly bid farewell and left even before I worked up the courage to request a photograph.


On the following day we met His Eminence Tshglop Rinpoche responsible for social service activities for the Sangha.  Our conversation was entirely different, but equally enlightening.  Establishing that we were comfortable and enjoying our stay in his country that might lack services but has happiness and tranquility, our conversation centered on effort, continual practice and service as key elements in the pursuit of mahamudra.  I was interested to hear from him that among older monks, they rarely if ever see mental problems.  He seemed to suggest a link between generation of wisdom and staving off dementia.

After several hours in that room, and on the one day when bright sunshine beckoned us from outside the windows, we were restless, but we had another remarkable moment just ahead.  Our driving companion and quiet, good natured friend, “Lam” who had accompanied us for two days practicing English and bantering about the food now changed hats and joined the list of respected experts with whom we shared dialog. Gembo translated as Lam Jampel Sangay, District Abbot of Pemagatshel District Monastic Body shared with us his deep knowledge and reassured us that the key element of spiritual practice is to have faith in the path we choose.  As long as we have total faith, we are on the right path.  This wisdom, among many other pithy teachings Lam shared, made staying inside a little longer worth every second. 

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With the mornings spent in meetings, our group was anxious to move our bodies in the afternoons and of course Gembo had a plan.  On the first afternoon, we hiked to Khamsum Yuley Namgyel Chorten, a newer temple built by the queen mother with a massive mandala in the center “Victorious diety over the three worlds” and a stunning 360 degree view of Punakha valley from the top.   We discussed fear and imagery and whether they are learned or ingrained.  Mom wondered if Yeung might take issue with Gembo’s assertion that fearis conditioned; that the images are not inherently scary.  We heard about the divine madman and his antics on the way up, and about temple architecture as we descended in a rainstorm. 

On our second afternoon in Punakha we visited both Punakha Dzong and Khuruthang Lhakhang, the latter of which had survived a terrible flood.   When we finally returned to the farmhouse in the evenings, we were treated to a lovely stone bath one night, dancing with the host’s adorable eight-year-old daughter, and deep conversations over lovely hearty meals.


On our way out of Punakha we stopped at a nunnery where we met a lovely young nun named Pema who gave us bracelets and told us she would pray for us.  She spoke perfect English, and was articulate, earnest and soft-spoken.  Though we all could have stayed in Punakha for much longer, it was time to begin our journey home.


Tashi Delek – A Journey to Bhutan, Part II


Thimpu is home to 10% of the population of Bhutan, about 80,000 people and 65% of the cars in the country.  Residents complain that it is overcrowded and “ruined” but they don’t even have a traffic light unless you count the white-gloved police officer who stands at the busiest intersection directing traffic in town.  Ours was a modest guesthouse with a stunning view of the Tashichho Dzong built in 1772.  What the guesthouse lacked in amenities, it made up in spades with this gorgeous view.  Looking out at the Dzong which houses both the Sangha (central monastic body) and the central government administration, we found it impressive by day, but even more so as it is lit with white and red lights at night.  Vegas would be all over this as the next casino design if they only knew. 


The Sangha makes up 1% of the population of Bhutan, about 8,000 monks.  The monks reside for ½ of the year at Tashichho Dzong in Thimpu and the other ½ in more mild Punakha, further to the north.  Influence of the Sangha is felt throughout the country, both in the presence of the monks in town, but also through more targeted programs like Values Education where monks go into secular schools and work with students and families to teach and ingrain Buddhist values.


Dress and colors are very important in traditional Bhutanese culture.  A monk’s level of experience can be determined by the colors on the shirt he wears, orange indicating ministry level, for example. Both the Sangha Raj and the King wear yellow.   While street dress is about 50/50 western and traditional Gho and Kira, any time there is a public celebration or they enter an official location, Bhutanese must wear traditional dress in a very precise way.   The women’s Kira is a rather constricting looking long skirt and silk jacket style top.  Men wear the Gho which looks a bit like a big knee length bathrobe worn with long black socks and wingtips.  The mix of east and west has modernized the shoe choice but resulted in a look that through Westerners’ eyes looks like men who forgot to put on trousers.  Nonetheless, I think it’s a great look and brought two of them back for my husband hoping he might start a new trend. 


On our second day in Thimpu we drove about ½ an hour outside of the city through achingly beautiful countryside to a rural parking lot at the foot of a steep hill.  A lovely stone path (built in two weeks as a surprise for the 7th Tri Rinpoche, a young incarnation of Tenzin Rabgye and current resident at Tango) lead us in gentle switchbacks up through the trees to Tango Thorim Shedra, the primary monastic college in the country.  Tango, which means “Horsehead” is built on an auspicious spot, where Avalokiteshvara revealed himself as prophesized in Tibet and where Shabdrung Ngawang Namgyal meditated in a cave among other bits and pieces of stories I gleaned from Gembo.  At our unhurried pace, the walk took about an hour, as our group bonded,deep in conversations.  Arriving at Tango we were all struck by its beauty perched precariously on the side of a cliff.   The hot milk tea and biscuits we were offered by a young monk were very welcome.  We met with statuesque Lopen Karma, the VP of the school and had an opportunity to ask questions of him.  Amazingly, we were permitted to witness a Mahakala ritual service while we were there.  This was one of the most memorable moments of the whole trip for me.

A few weeks before we left for Bhutan, a relatively new friend of mine, Sandra d’Auriol, had fallen to her death from the roof of a plastic surgery clinic in Beverly Hills.  Making sense of her tragic death was impossible, but her memorial service in Hong Kong coincided with the precise moment we sat there in the temple at Tango, cross legged on carpets in mediation as we listened to twenty young monks rhythmically chant and beat drums with question mark shaped instruments and blow long haunting horns, the sound of which reverberated to the very core of my being.  When we later stood, we were invited to a contiguous temple and told that the enormous Buddha (adorned with a gorgeous turquoise teardrop on the forehead that jewelry designer Sandra would have loved) was a special “wish fulfilling Buddha” as it contained many important relics.  We were encouraged to make offerings and mine was the most earnest wish for Sandra’s family, her husband and two beautiful daughters to find peace and happiness in life and relief from their suffering.  I had a really clear understanding this this was precisely what I was supposed to be doing then, and perhaps the reason for my trip. 

We loved Tango so much we lost track of time.  The cold set in and so did the darkness.  We descended along the stone path in the dark, thankful for the torches and iphone flashlight apps we had along.  Dinner that night at the Folk Museum of Bhutan was delicious.  We sampled native cuisine from all regions of Bhutan including the local rice wine called ara, salty butter tea, momo and many other local dishes.  This was a fantastic meal, but an even more unbelievable day.


Dasho Karma Ura, who, working alongside the King, gave shape to Gross National Happiness, Director of the Center for Bhutan Studies and modern-day Renaissance man invited us to his home for lunch the following day.  In his living room we sat comfortably as the wood stove crackled and his youngest daughter chased her new kitten around while Karma Ura enlightened us on everything from his theory on Japanese malaise to geopolitics, formation, government processes, heat generation, GNH and so much more.  We sipped our sweet tea, ate fermented millet to warm our stomachs and listened intently.  Karma Ura’s talents are nearly boundless.  When he believed a festival was lacking, he created a new one including choreography, costumes, story and all.  The new temple on Dochela pass includes detailed contemporary wall murals he painted.  He recently published a chapter in a thought-provoking book called Learning From The World.  I took so many notes and have many thoughts on GNH, so will save those for a separate post, but suffice it to say, meeting Karma Ura and hisfamily was extraordinary. 


We left Karma Ura’s and went straight to Semtoka Dzong, a temple and monastic school for younger monks built in 1629 in Thimpu.  We met the vice principal and our group got a little bold asking about the benefits of celibacy as the essence of Vinaya.  Gembo must have had a time of it translating in that meeting, but handled it with his usual aplomb.   While the Dzong was beautiful, the most memorable element of our time there was an impromptu history lesson on all of the reincarnations of Avalakateshvara and philosophical teaching on the union of bliss & emptiness Gembo gave on the spot in the new museum annex.

Dinner that night was at a restaurant called Jampelyang Resort on the opposite bank of the river with a beautiful view of the lights of the city.  Our hosts for the evening, Cheki and her husband Kinley, were fantastic.  Cheki is one of 9 children, including our friend Nomgeil who helped cart us around all week and Lam Jampal, District Abbot, and now dear friend too.  Each of these four amazing people has a story I would love to share separately.  Cheki’s 15 kilometer walk each day to go to school when she was young, Nomgeil’s terrible experience pumping gas and working in a Japanese restaurant kitchen in midtown NY on a fated flirtation with the American dream, and Lam Jampal’s recent work to build a secular school to support his monastery in the East.  I love this family and would like to send business to Cheki’s travel agency, find Nomgeil a wonderful wife and raise funds for Lam’s school.

On our final morning in Thimpu, in a light chilly rain we walked across the main courtyard of Tashichho Dzong to the private chamber where his Eminence Dorji Lopen Rinpoche, the Vice Sangha Raja awaited our visit.  This beautifully imposing man sat cross-legged on a platform, cloaked in robes, commanding the room without saying a word.  We presented our white scarves and bowed our heads low and he placed them around our necks and gently touched our cheeks. We spent two hours in his presence asking questions about the path to mahamudra, shamata, Vipassana and so many other topics, and he replied with patience and wisdom, offering just the right teachings and examples for our group.  Before we left, he offered us a blessing to “tie our karma so we continue to be together.”  The energy was truly electric as we all sat with our heads bowed and he chanted then presented us with silk cords and mental health herb pills that had been blessed and consecrated in a way to help generate awareness and benefit those with mental problems.  I am definitely going to hold onto those!  The photo of all of us taken afterwards looks like we all just went through the ringer.  I can’t describe exactly what it feels like to have your karma tied to a monk like that, but I can say that we all felt changed by it.


We left Thimpu in a warm daze and headed up and over the pass to Punakha.

To be continued in Punakha…