Iter ad domum

I’ve been thinking a lot about teenage Paul. The one who wanted so badly to be himself, yet had so little idea what that meant.

In my high school guidance counselor’s office, there was a poster: “Be yourself. Everyone else is taken.” I loved that quote, but didn’t quite understand it. So I did what teenagers do: I reached for ready-made identities. I grew my hair long and wore shirts from Goodwill, like Chris Cornell from Soundgarden. I thought if I read enough, thought hard enough, or told the right story about who I was, I’d land on the real me.

What I didn’t understand was that authenticity doesn’t come from figuring anything out. It comes from inhabiting your body fully.

That was hard to do. My teenage body was full of pain. There were many wounds around not belonging. There was a persistent sense that no one would really fight for me. There was a feeling of sticking out everywhere. There was racism, both explicit and internalized. (I remember how hard I tried to get my hair to be straight.)

I did my best with the tools I had. But the habit of leaving my body and seeking comfort in fantasies, judgments, and opinions kept me unhappy for many years. My thinking mind led me down paths that made me miserable and dishonored my inner wisdom. It kept me from being honest about what hurt.

If you look at the photo, you can see teenage Paul wearing three Buddhas around his neck. I’m grateful to that boy for discovering the dharma, which taught me that I have an inner goodness that has nothing to do with what I know, think, or achieve.

The other night, at a party, I heard an old voice say, "You don’t belong here, you shouldn’t be here," and I felt a familiar urge to explain myself, to tell the right story. But instead, I just took a few deep breaths, felt my awareness come back to my body, and suddenly sensed my teenage self somewhere close. And I said to him: "Thank you for saving my life. Now it’s my turn to remind you that you belong exactly where you are."