柔中有刚

So it's been over six months since I first began this job in Kangding County. I realized recently that I've never related exactly the inside-out turn of events that led me here. I promise I'll keep it short.

It begins back in late August. After the teachings in McLeod Ganj in Himachal Pradesh, Mike and I traveled for a week with Neil Guidry and his group of Tulane social work graduate students. In addition to the two of us, we were accompanied by a Jordanian woman and a girl from Rochester, NY. The winding jeep rides through the bright Himalayan foothills were filled with idle chatter. Neil sat in the front with the driver (in case his Thai "Press Pass" was needed to bypass toll stops), Mike, Nada, and Meg occupied the bench seat, and yours truly, the wannabe minstrel, strummed his miniature backpacking guitar in the rear.

As many of you know I returned to Asia without much of a plan, chasing a dream that I wasn't sure existed. I just wanted to get back to China to practice my Mandarin, and to hopefully work for an NGO doing something that could help me feel like I was moving in a direction, any direction. Teaching English would be something to fall back on. I hadn't made any real progress, though I met a couple of the right people at the temple in McLeod, and before I left I bounced ideas off of the requisite professors and friends.

While lamenting the lameness of English instruction, one of those friends, Olivia, mentioned that she did enjoy meeting the teachers of a group called the Bridge Fund. They didn't have to put up with run of the mill Chinese classes, which are notorious for rote learning, apathy, and poor spoken English. Moreover, they worked with Tibetans in some of the more remote areas of Greater Tibet.

When allowing my mouth to wander through the list of half-baked job ideas I had created, I mentioned the Bridge Fund to Meg and the others. Meg immediately mentioned that she was personal friends with the founder and director of the organization, a woman named Monica. Meg lives deep in Qinghai, a province that borders the Tibetan Autonomous Region in the PRC. She teaches some small children in order to pursue her practice in her lama's hometown.

Splitting from the others, Meg, Mike and I traveled to Bir so that he could make good on an invitation to meet the Neten Chokling Rinpoche and his consort Tenzin in their home. That evening Meg showed me photos from her computer of the deep green valleys of Qinghai in the summertime. Tiny Tibetan children swam freely in the rivers. She informed me that not far from there, in a town called Jyegu (Yushu), a Bridge Fund school had been established.

The following day we both emailed Monica. I didn't send a formal resume, only a description of my experience and my reasons for wanting to work with Tibetans. A short time later I received an email that the NGO needed a position filled in Dartsedo (Kangding), and that I was to email the China Director of the Bridge Fund to work out the details of the job. Two weeks (and a number of visa-related headaches) later, I found myself completely unqualified in front of an eager group of twenty-nine high school juniors.

I found out from the class's previous English instructor some time later that she had gone through an extensive hiring process. A man named Carlos had been hired to the job, but dropped out unexpectedly weeks before the term was to begin. Via a notable chain of coincidences the Bridge Fund hired me to my current job. It felt effortless. Some have called it karma. For once in my life, I trusted Fate and She delivered. Not until around Thanksgiving did I fully realize my good fortune.

Since then I mentioned to a close friend that I hope to move through life without effort. He was somewhat put off: becoming successful or achieving one's goals often requires a great deal of effort. I'm forced to agree with him, for fear of becoming passive and reactionary and unable to act to improve my life. On the other hand, I can't see the future. I find that in the periods that feel the most certain, things are changing the fastest. How does one live progressively and flexibly without worrying about what lies ahead?

Three and a half years ago I spent a long week of all-day martial arts training in Dali in Yunnan Province. The smooth motions of kungfu are powerful indeed, but they must be lithe and tempered with grace and flexibility. I still remember what the martial artist traced in the dust of the exercise yard to hammer this point home:

柔中有刚

Amidst Yielding Lies Strength

p.s.: Today is the Ides of March. For my American audience, I offer a warning. Because I am thirteen hours ahead, as I publish this you are enjoying that memorable set of strange dreams that delights us before we begin the day. I have all but finished my day. I awoke to a message from an old friend pointing out my shortcomings: inconsiderate carelessness on my part translated into a mark of deep disrespect and betrayal. Though I know I am basically self-centered and exhibit a number of pig-like tendencies, when it becomes obvious to others my ego can't help but be burned. All day long. Please tread with caution on this, the day of Caesar's death.