Taking it back*

People, or more likely institutions, can take a lot away from you. They can take your time, your health, your mind, your home, your body, your property, your hope, your family, your joy, your freedom, and even your life.

But there are some things they cannot take without your consent (though sometimes the cost of resistance is high) - your beliefs, your convictions**, your values, and your faith. They also can't change virtue or the truth, those things are enduring.

I find great comfort in the fact that some things are enduring, some things can't be taken from you unless you give them up, and that the things that can be taken from you can take back. This consoles me when I feel inconsolable.

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*Thanks to a good friend, RH, for using the phrase "I'm taking it back" when referring to the first category of things I've listed out. I would've never thought about this otherwise. Also thanks to one of my high school English teachers, GM, for guiding us to read East of Eden, I've been thinking about this passage for nearly 10 years now:

** - http://timshel.org/timshel.php. An excerpt from John Steinbeck's East of Eden:

Lee’s hand shook as he filled the delicate cups. He drank his down in one gulp. “Don’t you see?” he cried. “The American Standard translation orders men to triumph over sin, and you can call sin ignorance. The King James translation makes a promise in ‘Thou shalt,’ meaning that men will surely triumph over sin. But the Hebrew word, the word timshel—‘Thou mayest’— that gives a choice. It might be the most important word in the world. That says the way is open. That throws it right back on a man. For if ‘Thou mayest’—it is also true that ‘Thou mayest not.’ Don’t you see?”

“Yes, I see. I do see. But you do not believe this is divine law. Why do you feel its importance?”

“Ah!” said Lee. “I’ve wanted to tell you this for a long time. I even anticipated your questions and I am well prepared. Any writing which has influenced the thinking and the lives of innumerable people is important. Now, there are many millions in their sects and churches who feel the order, ‘Do thou,’ and throw their weight into obedience. And there are millions more who feel predestination in ‘Thou shalt.’ Nothing they may do can interfere with what will be. But ‘Thou mayest’! Why, that makes a man great, that gives him stature with the gods, for in his weakness and his filth and his murder of his brother he has still the great choice. He can choose his course and fight it through and win.” Lee’s voice was a chant of triumph.

"Because they have God."

I was reminded of this story, because of an article Emily W. sent me earlier today. She actually sent me three good ones:

• http://www.archdaily.com/361831/infographic-life-inside-the-kowloon-walled-city/ - This is the one that triggered the story
• http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2011/02/14/110214fa_fact_gladwell?currentPage=all - Another good one she sent
• http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2012-09-18/what-mitt-romney-doesn-t-get-about-responsibility.html - This one is good too

Anyway, here's the story.

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When I was 18 years old I was a freshman in undergrad and over Winter Break, I went to a family wedding in India. This, being an Indian wedding and a wedding involving my boisterous/awesome family, was obviously a huge affair and to accommodate our clan, my uncle rented a 20 room bungalow outside of Delhi. One of the days, we needed firewood. I hopped in the car with my eldest sister and her son (who was probably 5 at the time), and we set off to find some.

We found ourselves in a slum, because it was the closest place to get the wood. We were in a car, of course, but I was trying to observe the scene as closely as I could.  My sister commented that the people in the slum were generally happy, despite their destitute poverty. I asked her why.

"Because they have God," she said sincerely and almost nostalgically, after a pause.

I don't know exactly how that moment changed me, but it did. I haven't been the same since. I'm only starting to figure out why now, almost eight years later.

Every Day Is a Good Day

We are most humble when we are most weak, I think, but that in turn makes us our strongest. When our bodies, minds, and souls move irregularly close to their danger zones. I'm influenzaed up today, and, my body is always such that I feel rosy or it's at DefCon 3. So DefCon 3, it is. It doesn't have to come from illness, but that's just where I'm at today.

When you've done all you can except pray and sleep, it leaves you strong like a Phoenix borne from a moment of weakness thinking and thanking - only in your head for a moment - for the chance to be around other people; for good; friends; for protection of your friends, family, neighbors, and strangers; for forgiveness; and for the guidance and strength to take the path you were meant to.

Then out of nowhere, you start whispering under your breath, and your face starts to tingle, despite everything (mind, body, and soul) that's happening...

"Thank you for this day. Thank you for this day. Thank you for this day."

-NT

PS - Go Blue. We on.

Letting Go

This post has been in the making for many years, I think, but I haven't had the capability, courage, or conviction to write it. Maybe I still don't. Let's see.

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Introduction
In addition to writing graduate school essays which have been forcing me to reflect on my life, passion, history, and dreams, I've been trying to spend over a year trying to be a more complete person. Someone who is less broken, with more confidence and inner strength. It's been, by far, the hardest year of my life because in addition to the ever increasing pace and intensity that comes with growing older, I've relived the hardest moments of my life to date. It's been haunting.

One school I didn't apply to was the University of California at Berkeley. They had a great question (I'm paraphrasing): what song most represents you and why? This monologue is loosely organized with that question in mind.

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"Yeah. You know technically, I'm not even really supposed to be here right now, so [forget] it. Might as well make the most of it." - Cinderella Man, Eminem

I don't know that I've ever really talked to anyone in the world about this - maybe loosely in passing, if that - but sometimes, and in many ways, I'm not really supposed to be here. I'm just lucky, for some reason a confluence of things happening in the universe conspired to bring me to this earth. This isn't as much of an exaggeration as I wish it were.

My father doesn't speak of his upbringing, ever. I hear more about his history from others who know him, and it doesn't surprise me. My father epitomizes the American dream. He grew up without much opportunity in a difficult environment. He didn't carry himself up by his bootstraps, because figuratively speaking, he didn't have boots. He made it to the US from nothing because of his intelligence yes, but more so because he's a relentlessly hard worker. He makes every other person I've ever know look like a pile of bricks. That he ever made it here is unbelievable  For me, that's lucky moment number 1 - my dad found a way to do something impossible to make it to this country.

For the purposes of this story, however, my mother's story is even more compelling. In her words, she was the least likely person in her family to live outside of India. Not only was she incredibly close to my grandmother, he also had major health problems growing up. She was always sick. In fact, she told me once that she fell so ill in her twenties that doctors thought she was on her deathbed. She was so close to death, she said, the doctors took her from her bed and laid her upon the floor - as it tradition in Indian culture for someone who is expected to pass. Because of providence and the nurturing hand of my eldest aunt (who's my second mother, really) she miraculously survived.

The miracles don't end there, however. From what I've been told, for some reason or another, my parents were having trouble having a child. I don't know how long they were trying or why that was the case, but my mother said she came to her breaking point and that one night she prayed - to someone, anyone, I think - and promised that her house would always have a Christmas Tree if she had a child. I was born, and there has been a Christmas Tree up in my family's house every year since then.

Maybe this isn't a real story of struggle, but it makes me feel like the luckiest person in the world. The odds were against me ever coming into this world, from before I was even conceived. I'm not supposed to be here, but yet, I am.

This providence hasn't stopped. I wasn't supposed to be doing what I'm doing now. I'm not a terrific person, and am certainly a sinner, but I've done o-k for myself considering the circumstances. I always got along pretty well with people growing up, but I was always picked on. I was never really accepted, save for by a few. I felt pigeon-holed as the nerdy Indian kid my whole life. I was scrawny and never really got much attention from girls. I was sort of the stereotype you would expect for someone with my stats. I should have turned out differently.

But I caught a break. I changed schools in 8th grade and had a fresh start. I was able to let go of every other person's preconceived notions and I was lucky that a few people - many of which are friends of mine to this day - took a chance on a new kid from across town. It was from that moment, that I started feeling better and growing into the person I am today. If not for that, I don't know what would have happened, but I do know my life would have turned out very differently. I'm not supposed to be the person I am today, but I'm lucky and somehow, the universe conspired to make it happen.

The optimistic story that I could tell here is that I feel so lucky and that luckiness makes me feel an obligation to live in a way which honors the gift of life, blah blah, and that's 100% true. And, in any other blog post I would gush about this. But that's not this kind of post.

There's a darker side to all this. Feeling lucky to be a human on this earth brings an unwieldy pressure to do something good in the world - to live a pure and noble life, consecrated to others. This goes beyond, "with great power comes great responsibility" and "noblesse oblige." It's a crushing weight and it always makes me feel like I'm not doing enough, that I'm insufficient. I don't know if anyone else feels this way, I honestly think it's likely. I just have no idea - it's not something that comes up in polite conversation.

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"The world's on fire, and it's more than I can handle" - World on Fire, Sarah McLachlan

This is another thing I don't really know if other people relate to, but the first 25 years of my life felt like they were marked by struggle. And all this struggle, without me even realizing it (because I internalize emotion and rarely show it outwardly around others), has made me sad, angry, and anxious.

Most pervasively, I lost a younger brother when I was coming of age and I was devastated. It made me feel guilty and angry, not only because I wasn't present for my family members when he died, or that grieving his lost has helped me find my "passion". Rather, I've been a terrible burden to live with because he was younger and he passed on my watch, and I still feel culpable...even though it's irrational.

I was always by myself as a kid, shuttling to activity to activity and I hated being alone. I had someone opt out of being my partner in the middle of a ballet workshop and I've never felt more unattractive. I've lived in a city that's been in devastating decline for several decades and I've been at the edge of slums in India. All these experiences and more are the majority of the things I remember when I look upon the first quarter century of my life.

I think I've been holding onto all of this for longer than I can remember. It's all contributed to delirious pursuit of goals while having a warped sense of esteem and confidence. It's led to a deep feeling of hope stirred with a dark tinge of fatalism. In short, all these things have made me a certain kind of crazy and have mired my memory with experiences which have made it hard to remember all the blessings I've had. It's a cage.

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"I know I can't. But honestly, won't someone stop this train?" - Stop This Train, John Mayer

I've talked with JH quite a bit in the past few months about how our world has changed. Even 2 years ago we weren't living lives which had super serious consequences. Somewhere along the line we moved into the big leagues and the difficult things that happened were no longer trivial, they were material. We had to start dealing with real issues and the last of the veil of innocence we had was gone.

It's not going to stop, either.

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Fast forward back to the present. As I mentioned before, I've been spending the past year or so trying to come to grips with the difficult things that have happened in my life that I've swept under the rug and have never known how to handle and have never wanted to.

I've learned at least one very important thing on what happens and how to deal with stuff like this. You have to start by letting go - of anger and the shackles you put on yourself.

Both of these things are hard. Letting go of anger takes acknowledging that despite all our agency as individuals we have no real say in what the universe brings us. It's an acceptance that we are weak and fragile. It takes some unique brand of courage that helps you move forward from things that are painful but certain and toward things that are completely unclear but perfectly possible but reliable risky. It's humbling and absolutely terrifying, all at the same time. It's faith.

What is perhaps harder, for me at least, is ridding one self of the impossible expectations that we have of ourselves. Feeling that we must be perfect, even though we are not. That accomplishing anything but what we set out to do is failure.

This too is humbling, but also a fallacy. Yes, we are fragile. Yes, we are imperfect. But we're fine just the way we are, even though this doesn't exempt us from trying hard live life with good intentions. Accepting that we are good enough, even though we are broken, is the second step of letting go. Because we are. We are good enough.

I guess I had to write this because I'm having trouble doing both. I think this will help, though.

My Public Service Story

As some of y'all may know, I've been applying to graduate schools for matriculation next fall (but we'll see if I end up getting in and even going if I do). Getting to the point, some of the questions in the various applications have been extremely introspective (read: awesome to write). Seeing as how I've been trying to be more in "equilibrium" this year, I wanted to share some of these publicly.

They way I figure it, I'm really comfortable sharing what I think in public but find it rather uncomfortable to share what I'm feeling or sharing details about my life and experiences. The only time I ever really do share that sort of stuff (which I actually am quite happy to do in this case) is when someone asks me a question...much different than voluntarily sharing personal information. Since I've had to write these anyway, I wanted to proactively share a few of these...kind of as a way to push my own boundaries and connect with others.

Anyway, this is the first one I've completed. The prompt was to share about your commitment to public service, what you've accomplished, and what you intend to do. Thanks to Auren and Ling for the wonderful edits (it sure isn't perfect, but I think it's better...almost entirely due to their feedback).  Here it is.

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Bearing the loss of Nakul – one of my younger cousins who lived in India – when I was 14 years old was the event that inspired my commitment to family, community, and public service. He died within a matter of days after contracting Dengue Fever, and recollecting my relatives’ accounts of his illness still make me uneasy. They said his body cracked like fire in his final hours. Amidst his delusional fever, they added, his only request was to eat an apple – which they heartbreakingly couldn’t provide, given his condition.

While grieving Nakul’s death, I started to think obsessively about institutions and organizations. If the broader institutional constructs which shaped medicine – health policy, private sector investment in healthcare, etc. – were more robust, I thought, Nakul wouldn’t have died. More importantly, I started to realize that institutions, in general, have supreme influence over whether individuals and communities suffer or thrive. Nakul’s death catalyzed my thinking on an idea which is one of my closest held beliefs today – that institutions matter, a lot.

Moreover, I was quickly convinced that public and social sector institutions mattered more than others. Because they can affect entire societies, I thought, those institutions have the deepest and most direct influence over whether human suffering even exists. After coming to this conclusion, my heart committed itself to public service and I started exploring.

I started exploring institutions and public service, in earnest, during high school. During my senior year I hosted a voter registration drive at my school and rallied my peers to participate in school activities. In college, I interned in Washington D.C. three times and wrote mostly about public service topics as a columnist for the Michigan Daily, the student-run campus newspaper. I focused my undergraduate studies on understanding the relationship between sectors and my honors thesis explored Gen Y talent management in the Federal Government. Because of my overt passion for public service, some friends jokingly called me “Mr. DC.”

But toward the end of undergrad, I took a detour. I realized that private sector institutions also mattered greatly and that I needed to understand them to solve the problems I thought were most compelling – ones that require collective action across public, social, and private sector institutions. Starting my career as a consultant, though seemingly counterintuitive to a public service commitment, was a deliberate decision to understand business so that I could better effectuate social impact, across all sectors collaboratively, later in life.

Along the way, I fell in love with Detroit and decided that this is where I want to translate my passion for institutions and public service into action. I want to invest in Detroit, in concert with the other passionate people who are committed to its future. I’m doubling down on my hometown.

Because I care about and understand institutions, I intend to work at the systems level and create new models for solving cross-sector problems and for engaging citizens. Even now, I’m considering how to create social hack-a-thons which rapidly prototype solutions for cross-sector issues, or community forums that are inclusive of all citizens. In Detroit, addressing systemic concerns (like how to get better at the process of solving cross-sector problems) is often overlooked and I intend to do something about it.

  

I also believe that Detroit is a preview of what’s to come in communities across the country, because it’s the first city being rebuilt in a world with disruptive technology, rising individual power, and increasing performance pressure. For that reason I don’t see just see transforming Detroit as a regional matter, I consider it a blueprint for the next wave of community redevelopment which will occur across the country in coming decades. I intend to make a broader impact in the world, beyond Michigan, by solving gnarly problems here and helping others replicate and adopt our models elsewhere.

I believe that I am capable of doing the difficult work of rebuilding institutions because I’ve already started deeply understanding institutions and successfully working to improve them. For example, when serving clients as a consultant, I have successfully built programs which led business units to win the hearts and minds of employees impacted by major changes resulting from corporate transformations. As a Fellow at one of my firm’s innovation centers, I am studying the deep shifts affecting the business landscape and am building cutting-edge ideas to help organizations navigate those shifts. I will use what I’ve practiced to convene broad groups of community stakeholders to rebuild Detroit’s institutions, through entrepreneurial social initiatives informed by community needs.

Outside of my client service work, I have already developed entrepreneurial initiatives which attempt to solve cross-sector, institutional issues in Detroit. For example, I co-founded a pilot initiative within my firm to incubate skills-based volunteerism. We did this by pairing practitioners from across our office with leaders of regional not-for-profits and focusing those teams to scope and plan skills-based projects. As we build this incubator – we are currently in our second phase and have worked with 10 organizations to date – we are impacting not-for-profit organizations in the short-term by building their capacity to work with skills-based volunteers. More importantly, through our pilot we are refining a new model for tackling skills-based volunteerism which can eventually be leveraged elsewhere.

More than anything, I think I am capable of rebuilding Detroit’s institutions because of how much I care about this place. I love my neighbors and how they have a rare combination of toughness, humility, and compassion. I am proud of Detroit’s history and its impact on America and the world. I even long for the smell of the air in November, right before winter begins, when I travel away for work. My passion and conviction will continue to compel me to learn and do anything, as long as it’s ethical, to serve my community. I am committed to rebuilding Detroit’s institutions, even it takes my entire adult life. I’m fired up to finish what I’ve started and share what we learn with others across the country.

Was it really a hard day?

With the exception of approximately four types of life events, I've felt the extremity of human emotion. I've had all but two of the highest of highs (marriage and childbirth) and lowest of lows (burying a child and imminent death). I've lived the most blessed of lives, and at the same time, I don't even remember anymore what not being heartbroken feels like. I've struggled (and still do) with the most pervasive of grief and guilt while also understanding the purest of joy.

I had a hard day today. A really hard one. And yet, I am persisting without seeming to flinch at what should probably be a wrenching  angst. I don't know what to make of it.

In some senses I think it means I've grown, that I've learned to handle difficult feelings and how to live life for the gift that it is. In other senses, I worry that I'm emotionally closed off and incapable of really feeling almost anything personally affective, strongly.

What do you do if you can't tell if your humanity is as real as it gets or if you're a monster?

The Shelf

I had a realization just now. I'm always on girls' shelves. Which is to say, I'm not someone they ever want now, but someone they perpetually want to save for later.  Someone that they put on "the shelf" for awhile so they can access them later.

This practice, of shelving people, is heartbreaking...which is to say it breaks hearts. DON'T DO IT.

The best feeling in the world.

I sometimes lose sight of the big picture, despite a near addictive tendency to downplay the importance of details and see the forest over the trees. At those times...I forget that it's going to be okay.

I'm a lucky guy, so I have family, friends, colleagues and sometimes even perfect strangers to remind me that it is. Remembering it is the best feeling in the world.

That's hope. It's the foundation of a happy life. Every other good feeling in the world comes from hope.

And where does hope come from? Exploring this topic is a little new for me, but I think it comes from two places - truth and faith.

This is an interesting coincidence, because my spiritual journey comes from two places - Hinduism and the Judeo-Christian tradition. The cornerstones of those two worldviews are truth and faith, at least as I see it. I think this may be one of the only times that I feel solace instead of tension when reconciling two (or more) of my conflicting identities. That's a good feeling too.

Almost home (SFO -> DTW)

I'm remembering my FIJI days a lot today. Nothing in the world can take the place of persistence. 

Also remembering my FIJI days because, there's nothing that cannot be accomplished - no suffering that cannot be abated nor any joy that can not be actualized - if you are surrounded by friends, family, colleagues, and strangers who are committed to doing what's right and are committed to each other.

I try to remember that demonstrated love when I'm feeling defeated, like today. Because after remembering it, the following day seems possible. That hope and yearning aspiration for something beautiful, tomorrow, is enough to inspire any man. Hope doesn't change the world, but it does make it seem possible to surmount the tremendous odds against us personally and against us as a civilization. 

That is powerful. That love which leads to that hope is something everyone deserves. Including ourselves when we don't feel like we do.

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As an aside, this is the first time I've felt and expressed something verbally in a long time, maybe years. To many people and things, thank you for helping me be me, once again.

Public Commitment

At the beginning of this year, I coined the hashtag #equilibrium2012 as a way of summarizing a journey I was undertaking to become more emotionally healthy. It has most definitely been a journey. To start all this, it took a series of admissions. First, I had to admit I was not emotionally healthy. Second, I had to admit that I needed to hone some "tools" to become emotionally healthy (because I didn't, unfortunately, have the capacity to be emotionally healthy I think), and I had to admit that I couldn't do it alone. Even getting to those conclusions was difficult because I'm honestly pretty stubborn and don't like to admit that I have deficiencies in anything that's generally considered to be in the arena of "strength".

Now, I have to make another admission, well, two admissions. Moreover, I have to do this publicly (even if it's on a blog that just about nobody reads) because I struggle follow through on commitments unless I make them publicly.

• I'm not only emotionally unhealthy, I think I'm unhappy.  Or overwhelmed or stressed. Or ambivalent. In any case, I'm not "happy" in the traditional sense of the word. What's terrible is that I'm probably much happier than most people in America. But, I've never been much of a relativist and I don't plan on starting now. 
• Alcohol and indulgence culture has without a doubt been the largest contributor to my state of stress and unhappiness. I haven't made many bad decisions (thank goodness) but the ones I have made have all been associated with alcohol or indulgence culture. [For the record, I have not done anything illegal or exceedingly immoral as a result of alcohol or indulgence culture, just things that are not healthy to me and sometimes others. I bring this up because I'm applying to graduate school and I don't want to lose admission to my dream school because I happen to be honest but not detailed about the truth on a blog, which as I mentioned before, nobody reads anyway].

So, I've made a decision. Much like the stance I took before I turned 21, I'm abstaining from consuming alcohol for a time. I'm not sure how long or what exceptions I will make to this rule. I'm not even sure if it'll even help. But much like when trying to cut costs when restructuring an organization, I think it's worth examining the biggest ticket items on the books. Luckily, in this case, taking a break from alcohol has just about no opportunity cost.

I even floated this idea a few months and some friends convinced me out of it. I suppose that simply making this decision is probably a step in the right direction because it's a decisive move to take control of my own decisions in the face of peer pressure, which is probably something I'm too influenced by anyway.

Let's see how this goes.