yesterday, i participated in a duathlon consisting of a 400meter swim and a 2 mile run. i only did the run bit. i’m still far from being a proper runner, but i wanted to help out a swimmer who wished to join the duathlon but didn’t want to do the run.

the run went well, i’m actually quite pleased with how i did. :)  but, this entry is not about the duathlon... but the conversation i had with my swimmer after the run.

i met my swimmer the day of the duathlon. kim turned out to be one cool guy (yes, guy!)... friendly, chatty, a real treat. we became friends almost instantly.

kim was an architect, probably well over his 40s, happily married, owned a nice house and a cat. no kids. and no desire of ever having kids.

we had a long chat over drinks and talked about a lot of things. one thing that i found particularly interesting was our discussion on children. he said he and his wife just did not want them. “to each his own” was kim’s way of explaining himself. 

although i’m sure there is nothing so terribly wrong with not wanting to have kids, i admit my initial reaction was a combination of confusion and surprise. how could they not want kids? that’s not normal. do they really not want kids or were they just telling themselves they didn’t want them because they couldn’t have them? as my head tried to understand what was really going on, in the end, i was more surprised at my reaction... how i rejected the idea that people in their right minds could deliberately not want kids.

why did i just assume that people should want kids? are we, on some level, programmed by society to think that is what we should want out of our lives – to find a partner, get married and procreate? and wanting otherwise is, well, just not normal, and should warrant a reaction of disbelief and shock?

it later got me thinking about what i wanted out of my life. although i’m quite certain that i don’t want to have kids right now… i always just assumed that someday i would. someday… “when the time comes” “when i’m in my mid-30s” “when i meet the right person” “when i’m ready” “when my maternal instinct kicks in” – it gets interesting – “when i'm less selfish” “when i’m mature enough”... i would eventually want to have kids. but how is not wanting kids an immature decision? what if that really is what you want, and maturity has nothing to do with it? what if you just don't want the responsibility of having children? does that automatically make you immature and selfish?

a friend of mine who is ten years my senior always tells me i’m young, i still don’t know what i want. it was as though it is because i’m young that i don’t know what i want. i never really gave it much thought til now. now, i'm not so sure i agree with her... because i think i do know what i want. while i may not know with all certainty what i will want seven years from now (but then again, who does?), i do know what i want at this very moment. and even if my wants change over time – as does everything else around us as a natural law of the universe – that doesn't change the fact that it is what wanted at a certain point in time, i.e., right now. and right now, i know i want to not have kids.

will i eventually want kids when i turn 35? i still think i would. i think it would be nice and fulfilling to have my own family someday. but taking a completely different direction in life wouldn't be so bad, either, i've come to realize. i guess it'll all depend on the person i turn out to be seven years from now.

So I turned to Buddhism... which made so much more sense to me.  (My bible-hugging roommate in college wasn't happy, she prayed for my doomed soul every night, bless her.)  But I found that the more I studied Buddhism, the more tolerant of other religions and people’s beliefs I became.  My zen teacher once told me that the Buddha compared religions to fingers pointing to the moon.  If you look at just the fingers, they seem to be pointing to different directions… but in reality, they are pointing to the same basic truth.  Because Buddhism teaches that all religions are fundamentally true, I became more accepting of Christianity again… and I'd like to think that, in becoming a Buddhist, I became a better Christian.

Christianity and Buddhism are not mutually exclusive.  If you look closely at what it was that Jesus actually taught, you’ll find that it is quite similar to Buddha’s teachings.  For instance, Jesus talks about salvation from “hell”.  Of course, I think he was referring to hell on earth as we know it, and not in some after-life.  (Like I said, I have a slightly different take on Jesus’ teachings.)  In the same way, Buddha talks about salvation from ignorance, which *leads* to hell (again, hell on earth a.k.a. human suffering).  Both religions teach how one can be saved from this “hell” or “human suffering” – through unconditional love and compassion.

Although I do not practice Christianity or go to church every week or pray everyday, I still consider myself somewhat a “Christian”, my definition of a Christian being one who believes in what Jesus taught and strives to follow his example.  Unconditional love... love for your neighbors, love even for your enemies.  I think that once you are able to let go of your ego – this “need” to feel special and more important than everybody else – you will experience this unconditional love for everyone and everything around you.  And once you have that, you will have achieved an inner peace that is the equivalent of enlightenment in Buddhism.

A parable from my zen teacher about mindfulness, I call it "strawberry philosophy"...

"One day, while walking through the wilderness, a man stumbled upon a vicious tiger.  He ran but soon came to the edge of a high cliff.  Desperate to save himself, he climbed down a vine and dangled over the fatal precipice.  As he hung there, two mice appeared from a hole in the cliff and began gnawing on the vine.  Suddenly, he noticed on the vine a plump wild strawberry. He plucked it and popped it in his mouth. It was delicious!"

There is an old story about a man who came to see the Buddha because he had heard that the Buddha was a great teacher.  Like all of us, he had some problems in his life, and he thought the Buddha might be able to help him straighten them out.

He told the Buddha that he was a farmer.  “I like farming,” he said, “but sometimes it doesn’t rain enough, and my crops fail.  Last year we nearly starved.  And sometimes it rains too much, so my yields aren’t what I’d like them to be.”

The Buddha patiently listened to the man.

“I’m married, too,” said the man.  “She’s a good wife… I love her, in fact.  But sometimes she nags me too much.  And sometimes I get tired of her.”

The Buddha listened quietly.

“I have kids,” said the man.  “Good kids, too… but sometimes they don’t show me enough respect.  And sometimes…”

The man went on like this, laying out all his difficulties and worries.  Finally he wound down and waited for the Buddha to say the words that would put everything right for him.

Instead the Buddha said, “I can’t help you.”

“What do you mean?” said the astonished man.

“Everybody’s got problems,” said the Buddha.  “In fact, we’ve all got eighty-three problems, each one of us.  Eighty-three problems, and there’s nothing you can do about it.  If you work really hard on one of them, maybe you can fix it – but if you do, another one will pop right into its place.  For example, you’re going to die some day.  Now there’s a problem, and there’s nothing you, or I, or anyone else can do about it.”

The man became furious.  “I thought you were a great teacher!” he shouted.  “I thought you could help me!  What good is your teaching, then?”

The Buddha said, “Well, maybe it will help you with the eighty-fourth problem.”

“The eighty-fourth problem?” said the man.  “What’s the eighty-fourth problem?”

Said the Buddha, “You want to not have any problems.”

-Steve Hagen, author of The Practice of Being Aware, Right Now, Everyday: Buddhism, Plain & Simple