Embrace every part of yourself, by Suneel Gupta

I walk through the big wooden door, carved with and lower myself onto the ground of the And sit cross-legged on the curve. I remember its fragrance. Close my eyes. And pray.

Growing up in suburban Michigan, Sunil Gupta, author of Everyday Dharma, feels as though his life is divided between two realities. that of the Indian boy, and that of the American child. It's not until years later, after a surprising career pivot to politics, that Sunil learns it is possible to embrace all parts of himself and that he's stronger when he does so. In this series we combine So that we may see the Yeah. From wait what? I'm Rahan. The body relaxed. Tweeting. Mind open.

Meeting the world. I sit cross legged on the floor inside my temple. Statues and paintings of deities surround me. The smell of incense Jasmine and garland in the prayer hall mixes with cardamom, potatoes, and cauliflower cooking in the back kitchen. I can hear Auntie's Soft chatter contrast with the My heart. is Sastri, our young and energetic priest. Sastri gives me a name. I take a breath to steady myself. I'm eight years old and I'm about to sing a budgeon.

devotional song that Sastri helped me learn. I don't understand most of the Sanskrit words, but I'm good at memorizing. My voice floats out in invitation. After each line. Every other person in the hall chorus it back to me. builds to a crescendo. Yeah. Life. And I don't want this song to end. For these few minutes, I feel like a Hindu Bruce Springsteen. A rock star.

When the service ends, we shuffle out of the prayer hall into the cold of a Michigan winter. I pass through the big wooden door, carved with mosaics and inscriptions that crawl up the solid teakwood. That temple door is a divider between my two worlds. Inside this building, I'm an Indian child, one who craves his parents' approval and knows he has it when I'm singing budgans. I am one of the select few who Sastri chooses to perform by his side. I take a lot of pride in that.

As soon as the heavy temple door swings open, though, I'm an American boy. One who desperately wants to fit in. And my skin color makes that difficult. My family and I live in a lily-white suburb of Detroit. The 90s have begun, and with it, First Iraq War. Operation. is one of them. I run from Jason and his friends in the hallway, but they always catch me. They want me to understand that I don't belong. what I can to blend in.

I cake baby powder onto my face to make it seem whiter. I overwear t-shirts featuring the most iconic American I can imagine, Bruce Springsteen. I pretend it doesn't bother me when other students call me a camel jockey, or tell me they don't like my kind, and I certainly never talk to anyone about budgeons or anything Indian. I'm convinced that if the outside world finds out about my inside world, Acceptance will be impossible. Dark gray curve. fairs yield to off white stone walls. Metal beams.

for hours.

Conversations amongst third year law students always find their way back. To the big and obvious question. This time, it's my friend Alex who asks. Seriously, what are you thinking of doing after we graduate? We're all at that age when we should have a plan for the future, or at least that next step, but it's not so cut and dry for me. Before law school, I work for the Democratic National Committee. down the country, writing speeches for political candidates.

From those running for the U.S. Senate, Precincts. It's not glamorous, but I actually don't know. the crappy motel rooms, the constant bus travel, the urgency. Because of how it came out. I really am. I remember being in social studies class in seventh grade, learning about Martin Luther King Jr. and his I Have a Dream speech. together on a boxy little TV. Then my teacher pulls up a luminescent image of King on the slide projector.

He stands in his office, arms crossed, and On the wall behind him is a framed photo of Mahatma Gandhi. Seeing is real. Gandhi is a huge figure within my family, but he's never been mentioned inside my classroom. I'm stunned. Everybody recognizes Dr. King as a hero, and his hero is Gandhi. For that moment, my two identities, Indian child and American boy. aren't in battle. They're in harmony. A little voice inside of me whispers, It's okay. You don't have to be a good idea.

Be proud of who you are. My teacher then mentions that both Dr. King and Gandhi sometimes worked with writers who It's the first time I hear the word speechwriter, and I decide then and there that this is what I want to do for the rest of my life. After school, I come home to practice writing speeches for great leaders. Living or dead, it doesn't matter. The years pass I write speeches for friends, family members. I read a Diwali celebration speech for my uncle. An anniversary speech.

Cousin, a retirement speech from my dad. I don't graduate valedictorian. I write the speech for the guy who does. With each draft, I become a little more confident. I start to make more friends. I come out of my shell a little bit more. I feel like these speeches are my calling. Or what Sastri would say is my Dharma. And I start to think that one day standing at the podium, delivering my own words to a crowd.

I go to law school with every intention of pursuing that dream of running for public office. But the closer I get to graduation. the more I begin to doubt my dream. So I turn Alex's question back to him. Well, what are you doing next year? He doesn't hesitate. He says, I'm going to Silicon Valley. Around the table.

Since the personal computer. All the smart and ambitious people I know seem to be heading to the Bay Area to work for big tech firms or to start their own. All of them have dreams of becoming the next millionaire or even billionaire, and there's an excitement in their voices when they talk about it. And that excitement is contagious. I feel torn between two worlds. When I know I love And another I'm afraid to miss. One that feels like a marriage of my two identities. not.

I play out both scenarios in my head. Running for public office means moving back to Michigan. convincing the same people who rejected me. To vote for me. Silicon Valley, on the other hand, feels safe. It's filled with successful people who look Just like me. So, I run away from my childhood dream and away from myself. Me too, I tell Alex. I'm going to Silicon Valley. Does a time come to mind when you made a pivotal, sliding doors type decision?

Turning away from one version of yourself for another. How does it feel reflecting back on it? What thoughts bubble up? and let them go. My wife, two daughters, and I are on a plane back to San Francisco after a weekend in Baltimore with Lena's parents. I'm in the window seat. Outside, sunlight reflects off the stark white. Clouds. I rub my eyes and from my fingers to my temple.

I'm thirty-seven and Exhausted. I've been in Silicon Valley for nearly a decade, working hard for other companies and eventually building my own. It's been a high stress. presence and the pressure has taken a toll. I thought that having some success would help me find myself. It hasn't. I feel more lost than ever before. With a sigh, I fish my phone out of my pocket and scroll through an endless feed of noise to quiet my mind. When I refresh, I see a breaking news post. Then another.

There's a violent rally happening in Charlottesville. Police cars in the background. Officers and riot keeps. people have been injured. I scroll faster until my finger floats slowly. Federate flag. मैं जाट White supremacists walk through the streets of Charlotte. They carry Confederate flags. and flaming tiki torches. Or reciting hymns. Tear up. The marchers are so far away, but it feels like they're in the airplane row right behind me. They don't look like strangers either.

When I pause one of the clips, I feel like I'm seeing some of the faces of the people I grew up with, of Jason Weber and his friends chasing me through the halls, body checking me into the lockers. The same guys who would tell me to go back to Iraq, back to Saddam, who don't care how much I hide or assimilate, because I will never be white enough. I'm angry and afraid. Is this the beginning of something? Are we about to see this everywhere? I reached for my wife's hand.

Tightly. Yeah. And her older sister, who was colouring on the back of a napkin, the light from the window shines brightly on their beautiful brown skin. Suddenly. who I was. To conceal might Something. That I'm not. How will I ever explain that to my girls? How can I show them what it's like to be proud of who you are? I realized the best thing that can happen for these guys in Charlottesville is for someone like me to stay in Silicon Valley, out of the picture.

But my future, my family's future, never feels more tenuous than it does right now. So I decide that I Yeah. No more trials. Something else. the edge.

It's 2018. I'm back in my hometown. in my campaign for the US House of Representatives. Public library. Everyone else is in Why am I worried? these voters that I understand their worries. Everyone is called. Despite the charged political climate in the country, no one shouts. I just hope it'll stay that way during the QA session. One woman asks about funding for schools. Someone else asks about healthcare. Then a man in the audience stands.

He stares at me point blank and asks Why do you think that someone with your skin color can win in a place that has never elected someone who isn't white? I feel caught off guard by the bluntness of the world. Others are probably wondering the same thing. I don't expect anyone to ask it out loud. I'm certainly not in San Francisco anymore. He continues, look, I'm not racist, you know, but my next door neighbor is. Yeah.

I know exactly the kind of neighbor he's talking about. Throughout this campaign. Houses I avoided as a kid. Face to face with bullies who used to torment me. Some slam a door in my face. Others tell me to go back to my own country. But really, most people are kind, or at least decent. Looking around this room, I see those same decent people nodding their heads at this. Everyone is waiting for my answer. I paused to think. Do I deflect? its importance.

Yeah. Or how anyone in this room is feeling.

No more hiding. My reply starts slowly, but continuously. You're right. I'm not white. And that will make this race tough. I take a breath and continue. But I'm here now because someone with my skin color has never been elected in this district. It's time for that to change. I see shoulders in the room relaxed. If the thing on everybody's mind is my race and identity, well, good. Because That's the thing on my mind as well. I have permission to talk about it.

fully share my story of who I am and why I'm running. I pick up momentum. My confidence builds. As I speak, I feel the divider between Indian child and American boy. That wall I've put up for so many years start to come down. And that feels Good. I'm meeting these people where they are. Day The real me. That it is possible. There's a real beauty here. One which comes with Sunil's realization that So wonderfully put. Breathing, let's enjoy it. Feeling the fullness of our breath.

the fullness of ourselves.

I walk through the big wooden door, carved with Hindu mosaics. changed about the temple. all things that remain the same. used as a kid. to walk quietly on the cold marble floor. I lower myself onto the ground of the prayer hall and sit cross-legged on the carpet. I remember its fragrance. I'm alone. My daughters are in the other room for a dance class. I close my eyes. Yesterday, I went to my campaign office for the last time. The walls are now bare. Seats are empty. There are only a few boxes.

for Congress t-shirts and glossy buttons that now sit in the trunk of my car. Artifacts of a campaign that is now over. I sit here in the temple and ask, what now? I'm praying for an answer. With eyes closed, My budget days are coming back to me. Tiny bells, aunties chattering as they prepare spiced aromatic Then one sound soars above the others and A deep enriched water. To voice her.

And when I opened my eyes, I Austri, the priest from my childhood. It has been nearly 20 years, but he still looks the same. Still smiling. Still dressed in the same saffron-colored robe I remember. We embrace And then we sit in the same spot where I used to sing by his side. I tell Sastri my story, how for too long I pursued a path that didn't feel like my own, how I ran away from who I was, and how I came back here to change all of that.

To come back to my Dharma, my inner calling. I barely get the words out before emotion gets the best of me. I remember how good it felt to sing budgans with Sastri. To have him see something in me, to be proud of me. But now, I'm shamefully admitting to him that. Sastri sits with me in silence for what feels like an eternity. Finally, the He turns to me and says Always better to fail at your own dharma. succeed at someone else's.

At the back of the prayer hall. Our heads turned to see my daughters, Sammy and Serena, sprinting towards me. Dressed for an Indian wedding. They could have worn jeans to dance class if they wanted. proud of who they are and watching them I'm proud of who I am too. Sostri begin to grow once again. stories about how their father would sing budgeons for everyone here.

When we leave that day, me holding each of my daughter's tiny little hands, I finally feel a sense of belonging on both sides of that temple door. Each of us is many parts wrapped into one. I'm a temple singer, a speechwriter, a tech founder. A political candidate, an author, a father and a husband? The part of me who feels anger and disappointment is Fulfillment and I take Thank you, Sunil.

As the kid of two parents who emigrated from Sri Lanka to London back in the late sixties, I recognise a lot of what Sunil has spoken about here the joys and the challenges. And the story has got me thinking, thinking about collapse.

Sunil had kept different parts of his life, different parts of his identity separate, and there was a real value to that for him at the time. But when he was able to collapse that separation, That was when there was maybe a greater value, certainly a deeper contentment, a release, a This concept is the same.

namely, of exploring what happens when we poke holes in the boundaries between things, when we test just how real and solid they actually are, is totally pivotal in the mindfulness tradition. It's a reminder that, although it may seem counterintuitive, we're actually stronger without those walls up. Sunil covered this concept one way, and in our meditation together now, let's do it another way.

Like many meditation techniques, a good place to start is with the body. When we talk about body awareness, we mean dropping our attention as much as we can into our physical sensations. And when we do that, it can help to pay attention in turn to different parts of the body. For example, right now, let's pay attention to how our hands feel. And if it's okay and safe to do so, let's close our eyes for the rest of the episode. Now, from the hands, move your attention to your feet.

Feeling the sensations here in the feet. Notice how we know the difference. Know how to target this particular part of the body and know the sensations here. Now from the feet, being aware of the rest of your leg, the lower leg and the upper leg. Again, noticing how you can easily make that distinction. We do make these distinctions. If you're able to, put one hand in the other, interlocking the fingers.

Here we can feel our left hand and feel our right hand. And we can feel the places where our left hand and our right hand meet. But can we get interested in whether that's really true? Where do the sensations of the left hand start and those of the right begin? I'm not saying there's a right answer to this. What I'm trying to do is point you into curiosity, into inquiry and What happens if we collapse the idea of a left hand and a right hand? What remains? What is here in our direct experience?

What if, instead of framing our body as this part and that part, what's it like to know the body as a whole? The body as a unified field of experience, nothing separate. What if, instead of considering our body and our mind different, what's it like to know the body mind as a whole? Everything included in what we are. No distinctions. No separations. Everything welcome. Thank you, Sunil. For reminding

We'd love to hear your personal reflections from Sunil's episode. How did you relate to his story? You can find us on all your social media platforms through our handle at Meditative Story. Or you can email us at hello.com. Meditative story is a way to watch. The series is produced by Dorothy Abram. Original music and sound design by Ryan. Mixing and mastering by product. I'll see you वाइट वाइट Ariel character. Nikki Williams. Velez, Justin Winslow, Colin Howarth, Brandon Clear.

Alfonso Bravo And I'm Rohan Gunatilica. And the all-new mindfulness cards for the family and your host. At Meditative Story dot com