I'm Not a Buddhist

I really like meditation. I really, really like it. I don't do it every day lately, but it's pretty great when I do it. I think I like it because it's kind of trippy and it's like being on completely optional drugs that stop working when you want them to. And I like all the little Buddha-man tricks of perspective that help me feel more relaxed about the irritations of life. These are all pretty handy. But it's just not enough to be a primary source of pursuit and study for me.

I was wondering a while ago whether spirituality is a substitute for personality traits and I am feeling these days like the answer is yes. Having a big hole in your chest, I think, is much more likely to mean that you are not using your human capacities in a way that makes you feel fully connected to society. Joining a church can certainly provide that in the sense that there are books to study and people to discuss things with and weekly obligations to attend and volunteer opportunities - all these things can create a sense of purpose and accountability, but it's not really about finding a spiritual center. It's about using your regular, secular, reality-based abilities in a useful way.

In general, I think it's a mistake to go looking for god if you're looking for yourself. I mean, did I mention that the guy who leads the Buddha discussions in the deli is a master carpenter, accomplished musician, as well as a husband and father? And he isn't just a practicing Buddhist, he's a group-discussion leader, highly social community member, and is sometimes employed by the temple to build specialized pieces of woodwork. It makes sense to me that he would be a happy guy with probably minimal identity problems; he's using his capacities pretty fully to contribute to a social direction.

When I wonder about a cure for emptiness, I connect most with Betty Friedan's research on identity and happiness:

"The identity crisis . . . seems to occur for lack of, and be cured by finding, the work, or cause, or purpose that evokes his own creativity." And Friedan cites the failure to find this work/cause/purpose, this emptiness, the "problem that has no name," (or The Feminine Mystique) as a problem of, well - laziness and confusion. This rings the most true to me. This is what I accuse myself of in my own search for myself, so I'm predisposed to agree with it, but it makes a lot of sense to me. Friedan continues:

"[E]ven if a woman does not have to work to eat, she can find identity only in work that is of real value to society . . . . [But f]or fear of commitment, hundreds of able, educated suburban housewives today fool themselves about the writer or actress they might have been, or dabble at art or music in the dilettante's limbo of 'self-enrichment,' or apply for jobs as receptionists or saleswomen, jobs well below their actual abilities. These are also ways of evading growth."

Sounds familiar. I remember when I started this blog I wrote out some criteria for happiness, and "meaningful work" was number three. And as an afterthought, I added spirituality. I think this is still the true order of things. Meaningful work is spirituality. Why is it so hard to find one's meaningful work? I think I may be getting a little bit closer to it. I think in the next ten years I'll have figured out one or two things, or be a little farther along on my feeling of long-term commitment to something. I love body stuff. I really look forward to practicing my yoga teaching on my friends on Sundays, so I think I'm on to something here, at least. And I'm glad for the insights that looking into Buddha stuff has given me, and the things it has made me think about, but it still strikes me as utterly secondary to the true questions of work and self and purpose and place in community. For me, investigating spirituality is an excellent vehicle for connecting with other people who want to talk about finding life purpose - its function is community, and opportunity for connection to community, more than anything. But sense of self is more centered in commitment to exploring your own abilities in a long-term, non-dilettante way.