I am Rebeca.

Lately I have noticed a startling thing about my mind.  Things have quieted down substantially in my life.  Things that held me hostage have finally lifted and that has left me with certain space that I didn’t have before.  And in this space, I have started meditating again, going to a sangha meeting weekly, and trying to sit on my own.  And while paying more attention to the chatter of my thoughts, one thing has become very clear: I have an enormous ego.

Somewhere in the years of sadness and the dark, sticky shame of self-loathing, a little seed of vanity and narcissism has taken root and grown in the mud.  And I never noticed it (too much) until now.  It shows itself in funny ways.  Like when I am driving around SF or going out for a walk or meeting people for drinks.  I see many, many people.  I don’t know these people.  I think: Who are these people?  Where did they come from? And how can I not know them? How can they not know me? And it always strikes me as so funny that I could think that.  First I thought it was because I think of SF as so small and such a little city.  But no, it’s just that I can’t believe that things exist without my personal stamp of approval.

Once a few years ago, I was with a bunch of people in a part of town I don’t really hang out in.  We ran into a girl we went to school with and started chatting.  This girl looked at me and said, “I’m sorry.  I don’t think I know you.  Who are you again?”  I was floored.  I was shocked.  I couldn’t BELIEVE that this girl didn’t know who I was.  I am Rebeca.  Hello? Bow on down little girl and pay your respects.

Man.  Sometimes this giant ego of mine makes me howl with laughter and shame.

Maybe it’s because I grew up in a small town and had some modicum of success and exposure.  Maybe it’s because I have big dreams and have always sacrificed them for safety.  Maybe it’s because I never felt “ordinary” life was good enough for me.  Or perhaps it’s closer to the truth to say that “ordinary” life was too good for someone like me.  Who knows why we turn out the way we do.

What I do know is that becoming curious about my thoughts and the way I live my life has been interesting.  Since I am not in a particular story of suffering for the moment, I don’t have to rip the past apart and I can just take a gander at the way I live without a lot of drama or tears.  It’s been weird.  I was born to sing opera arias and rip my clothes apart and burn my house down.  Not sit on a quiet meditation mat and wonder about my breath, while trying to see reality and live in the present.

And what I see is different than what I expected.  They say “more will be revealed”.  What’s being revealed isn’t the sadness of the past or the dysfunction of the present, it’s just vanity and ego.  That’s it.  I see the discomfort I have to just come home and cook and go to bed.  I see the squirminess I feel to think of having to clean and do the laundry and just live an ordinary life.  An ordinary, daily life.  Yes, it’s true that this kind of life, this level of comfort and routine makes me feel suffocated.  And I always thought that was because of a variety of childhood traumas and dramas.  But maybe it’s not that simple.  Maybe ordinariness and my giant ego’s rejection of my own ordinariness has a lot more to do with it.

Buddhists sometimes say that enlightenment is actually very ordinary.  I have always-surprise surprise- wanted to be enlightened.  I remember in one very dramatic and probably wine-filled soliloquy to a friend, I said “You know what I want for my life? You want to know what my goal is? For my ego to die.  I want my ego to die!”.   Ahhh yes.  So much easier said than done.   I think the first step is being able to see the size of the ego.  And man, talk about humbling.  To see the size of this ego.  Geez.  It’s gonna be a long, messy, probably bloody death with a lot of singing, bodice-ripping and burning.  Lucky for me, I was born for that kind of drama.

Sabbam Dukhum baby.  Sabbam Dukhum.

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