Part 3: Second Epiphany and Finding Happiness Through Work/Life Balance
In the previous article, I described how I continued to live an ascetic existence through my twenties. Most of my time was spent training, studying, or working, and I indulged in very little if anything at all. As I recall, I would allow myself to indulge in a slice of Black Forest cake once a week when I would get together with my friends and business partners at our weekly cafe meet-up. I still had a sweet tooth, so a piece of cake or dessert was a big treat. But during this time, I was so focused on all the work and training that I didn’t make any time to date. It wasn’t as if I was meeting a potential connection in Kung Fu class, where I spent nearly 40 hours a week. I lacked any semblance of work/life balance.
However, despite all the work I did throughout my twenties, developing myself through martial arts training and studying Buddhism, I still wasn’t happy. I still did not reach that elusive state of deeper joy and meaning I set out to find at 20. The reason I had not found inner happiness was that my ego still drove my actions.
Even though I was studying Buddhism, meditating, training, working on my humility, and trying to attain a state of being egoless, my actions were all driven by the goal of transforming myself. I was in pursuit of an outcome. That outcome was a better me—a version of myself that was not “sick” or “defective” but “strong.”
That desire to transform myself stemmed from self-loathing. I hated myself for having Crohn’s disease, Arthritis and Psoriasis. I hated being what I saw as defective. How could I find inner peace if the motivation behind my efforts was to not be me. In addition, if your happiness is tied to an outcome, then your happiness is contingent on the result of the outcome. But I didn’t understand that, and even though I was trying to get to “no ego,” everything I was doing was still serving to feed my ego. I hadn’t realized this yet.
Through my twenties, regardless of all the effort and work I had done, I was still suffering daily. My Crohn’s pain was a constant in these days. There was never a day from the age of 19 until about 31 that I didn’t have pain.
Crohn’s, for me, felt like someone was taking a knife and stabbing me in the gut. On good days, the pain was a three on a scale of one to ten. Most days, it resided between six and seven. I learned to ignore that pain. But once a year, I’d have such a bad flare-up that the part of my intestines affected by Crohn’s would get so inflamed and infected that food could no longer pass through. I would have a fever of 105 degrees, even touching on 106 at times, and I’d have to be rushed to the Emergency Room. Those attacks felt like a nine or ten.
So, in many ways, I didn’t accomplish the goal I set out to achieve. However, I had enough sense to understand that even though my ascetic efforts might not have cured my condition, it did perhaps keep it from becoming worse. And I had this belief that to achieve my goals would require consistent effort and work. So, I kept chugging along, continuing to work towards achieving my goals and trying to be the best possible version of myself.
Part of the pursuit of betterment was getting into the graduate film program at Columbia University. In my early twenties, I worked on a friend’s film project, and I loved the experience. From that day I was working towards becoming a cinematographer because I loved the merger between technology and artistry. As part of the program, at the end of the first year, we had to use the summer break to make a short film. I made a short film in India, where the next big life change occurred.
I went to India with two classmates and one of my closest friends. Another actor joined us so there were five of us from the production. We were staying in a remote hostel on the outskirts of Auroville. And then, one day, two more travelers ended up staying at the hostel. One of them was Vinaya Chaitanya who at the time was an Indian Swami and the head of an Ashram. He radiated kindness and an almost childlike innocence. A warm and joyful American woman accompanied him. The rest of my team naturally spoke and connected to the two travelers. But I kept myself locked up in my room for most of the time as I prepared for the next day’s work.
During this first year of grad school, I was still very much in ascetic mode. So, in India, I wanted no interruptions from the task at hand. And I guess Vinaya took notice of my behavior. One morning, before we set out to film, he approached me and kindly offered to help.
I was a little puzzled by this offer. I said, “Thank you, but we’re filming; I don’t see how you could help.” Vinaya then said to me, “I can drive you to set.” The challenge with this offer was that we didn’t have cars in India. We had motorcycles. But not thinking things through, I thought that I could ride on the back of the bike and continue preparing for the day’s filming. So, I accepted the offer and got on the back of the bike.
The moment Vinaya took off, I knew we were in real trouble. The back wheel spun out, and we wobbled and teetered on the edge of falling over. I’m not fully sure that Swami had ever driven a motorcycle in his life. Or maybe it was having a much larger person on the back of the bike that was throwing off the center of gravity. Either way, I quickly realized I needed to help balance the bike. So, I put my script away, grabbed the back of the bike, and started leaning left and right, acting as a counterbalance to keep us from toppling over.
So, while I was working really hard to keep us from falling, Vinaya would do the wildest thing. He would turn around to talk to me, ask me pointed questions about my life, and completely take his eyes off the road to look back at me. I was deeply concerned that we were going to have a terrible accident and be mortally wounded.
His first question was, “Do you have a girlfriend?” I quickly retorted no and said, “But, please look forward.” He then turned around again and asked me why. I quickly blurted out that I was too busy working and asked him again to keep his eyes on the road. He turned around again and asked, “why was I too busy working?” I said, “Because I wanted to achieve my goals,” and probably nervously said, “Watch the road”. He turned around again and asked, “Why was I trying to achieve these goals?”
That question stunned me. Added to my loss for words was the very real fear that, at any moment, we may crash with another biker or fall to our deaths. Why was it so important for me to achieve these goals? I was baffled.
A funny thing happens when you think you’re going to die or get fatally injured while someone asks you pointed questions about your life choices. You inevitably are forced to reassess your life choices. And what I took away from that very deceptively smart Swami was this very simple question: why wasn’t I enjoying life? If you can lose your life in an instant in some horrible crash, then what are you doing with the precious moments you have? Was there a way to strike a balance? Could I keep working to achieve my goals while enjoying life?
That very night after filming, I broke my 10-year Ascetic lifestyle. I asked for a beedi (an Indian cigarette) from one of my colleagues and had a smoke. And it felt really good. I mean, really, really good. Was there a way to strike a balance? Maybe I could indulge in a vice from time to time. Maybe I could date and not invest all my time in work. Work/life balance, right?
One other big thing happened soon after this event. I owe a lot to my aunt. She has always been very giving and supportive. My aunt was a very smart and knowledgeable pharmaceutical engineer. One night, during dinner with the family, she presented me with an article and said, “Could you be allergic to Gluten?” This was now about fifteen years ago. No one was really talking about Gluten back then. I said, “What is Gluten?”. She said, “It is wheat.”
I was flabbergasted. I already gave up most things and ate what I thought was really healthy. How can I now give up all wheat products? I literally asked her that. She said, “Just try it and see if you feel better.” Well, after reading the article, I decided it couldn’t hurt to try. And the change was dramatic. After just a day, I was already feeling markedly better. After three days, the difference was remarkable. And for the first time in over ten years, I was no longer struck by daily pain.
I still had Crohn’s. It wasn’t like I was cured overnight. But for sure, a lot of what was driving the inflammation in my intestines and body was Gluten. Once I went gluten-free, I started having pain-free days. Arthritic and psoriatic flares became a thing of the past. What being pain-free did for my quality of life was profound. I was so grateful to have the reprieve from the constant stabbing pain. It was like I saw the world with rose-colored glasses for the first time in a long time. And I was so grateful and appreciative of this new state that I took pleasure in everything. Even the mundane.
So, my 30’s became a period of striving to find a balance between work and pleasure. I still worked hard to achieve my goals, but not doggedly. My Kung Fu training had taken a back seat So I could focus on building my career. I would still work out to stay in shape, but not necessarily every day. I made room in my life to stop and smell the roses and I experimented with vices, allowing myself to smoke one cigarette a night. For whatever reason, the thought of smoking a cigarette during the day was gross to me. But one at night was a joy I looked forward to. And for the first time in a long time, I started actively dating for several years until I met the woman who would become my wife.
In time, the one cigarette-a-night thing fell away as I soon grew sick of the habit. I’d allow myself to have a drink or two from time to time, but it, too, was something I never craved. I even indulged in weed from time to time during this period. These years I was more flexible and willing to let loose.
But I found that the simple things brought me the most pleasure and joy. I truly loved green tea and chocolate. As long as I had those around, I was happy. I loved going jogging along the water and watching sunsets. I enjoyed indulging in frozen yogurt during the summer. During these years, I felt as though I had found some sort of balance. I was enjoying life and working towards my career and family—all the things you’re supposed to do.
But what I wasn’t really doing was fully working on myself. What I mean by that was that I wasn’t thinking actively about philosophy or spirituality during this period. Sure, I was working as a cinematographer, writer, and filmmaker. So, when I would write or direct, there was certainly introspection and exploration of humanity. Although I didn’t actively meditate as frequently during these years, I found writing highly meditative.
Things were, in general, pretty good during this period. I enjoyed the work I was doing. I was married to someone I loved. And I managed to make time to work out, spend time with family, and travel with my partner. My Crohn’s attacks became less frequent. And though I’d still have a bad flare-up from time to time, I wasn’t being rushed to the emergency room once a year like I used to be in my twenties.
It was the first time in my life that I was generally happy. I felt as though I had found the proverbial work/life balance, and I was happy because I seemed to have everything I sought. That was until my late thirties into forties, when life threw some new curve balls, as it often does.
It wasn’t until this next period in my life that I finally got the answer to Vinaya’s question, “Why was it so important for me to achieve these goals?” And it wasn’t until this next period in my life that I understood how to find true inner peace and happiness, no longer needing to rely on one’s external eventualities.