Category Archives: culture

Be Myself, Change Myself, Be the Change

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Vail, Colorado, 2019

We are who we are from a very early age, maybe even before we are born. AND, we also constantly evolve throughout our lives. 

This is one of my favorite paradoxes.

Image shared on Instagram–one of my favorite quotes

I’m thinking a lot lately about Outer Peace. Our world swirls and bubbles with chaos and toxicity, so many psyches apparently living on the knife edge between tolerance and breakage, between breathing and screaming. How often are we tempted to yell, kick, throw things, or simply stop whatever we’re doing and just cry a while? How do we hold it together and simply function ourselves, much less help anybody else, and/or make any positive difference in the universe?

The longer I live the more I (re)learn that it’s about core values, goals, and trade offs, and not ego. Change is not about fighting. It’s Inner Peace in service of Outer Peace.

“Yesterday I was clever,” I knew better than everybody else. I was smart, and I wanted to show it. I came at rather than coming alongside, made simple and superficial assumptions, jumped to (often wrong) conclusions. This part of the quote expresses the necessary adolescence that we all go through in life–personal, social, and professional–the ‘know it all’ phase that our elders tolerate knowingly because their own elders did the same for them. Impetuous and defiant confidence, disregarding boundaries, testing and finding limits and resonances, if only subconsciously and often painfully. It is the organic growth and pruning of youth to early adulthood. If we’re lucky, we have mentors to guide us, helping us navigate the morass with fewer mental, emotional, and spiritual nicks, bruises, and fractures.

“…so I wanted to change the world.” Because it *should* all be a certain way, the way I think, because I know what’s right. Those who agree with me are my friends; those who don’t are not. I’m oversimplifying. But this is not far from a persistent mindset reality in our social groups well past physiologic adolescence, and not least among those who determine and enforce policy. Change the world how? According to my own world view and life philosophy, however rigid, narrow, and closed. I wonder about the (inverse?) correlation between how tightly we hold onto our rigidities and how far we have traveled, how diverse our experience, how many different cultures and realities we truly understand and empathize with? I submit that if we are honestly paying attention, if we open our eyes, minds, and hearts to the depth and breadth of any given human’s life experience, it instantly puts our all-knowing and arrogant ego in its place, which is at the back of the ‘world change’ bus.

“Today I am wise, so I am changing myself.” I am still clever–perhaps ever more so with age. With wisdom, however, I apply my cleverness in a different, more mindful, relationally intelligent way. I realize that power to change is not power over, it is power to. Strong arming (which includes coercing and shaming) rarely creates lasting, meaningful change, at least not without deep human cost. When I look inward first, seeing how I myself relate to and connect with that which I wish to change, therein lies my strength. I approach any problem from an ultimately human and humane perspective, which makes me more credible, more creative, more holistic in my problem solving. This is a big ask, requiring vulnerability and a willingness to step ‘way outside of my comfort zones. How does this give me any kind of peace? Don’t I risk losing myself, my identity entirely, when I make such daring attempts at real inclusiveness?

Who am I, that I can withstand this broadening, this profound stretching of perspective?

I am clear. I am centered. I am grounded, focused, and engaged–in my Why, in my Just Cause, in my commitment to playing the infinite game of human relationship and connection as long as I possibly can. To be me, my Best Self, means constantly evolving through lived experience, while hewing closely to my core values of honesty, integrity, curiosity, humility, generosity, and kindness. My inner peace comes from knowing, at the end of each day, that I did my best to show up this way, even when it was hard. 

It’s hard when I’m attacked, dismissed, or rejected for asking open, honest questions, for challenging social norms and ‘the way we do things,’ for facing and abutting over and over the rigid, the narrow, the closed. It’s hard when I discover my own rigidity, narrowness, and closures–oh man, that is tough to take. And the practices bring me back; they de-escalate, defuse, disarm, and rejuvenate: Breath. Mindfulness. Writing. Talking. Connection.

Inner Peace may not come immediately or even for a while after a disruption. But it does come, and each training episode strengthens my skills. The peace I eventually feel, then, grows and deepens; it integrates synergistically. It cannot help but then exude, at least while it lasts, until the next trial. Intervals between trials lengthen because what disrupted my peace last year rolls off of my consciousness today. Episodes shorten as I am able to breathe and regulate through them more effectively and efficiently. I become elastic, supple–strong and soft. My peace grows, and I grow with it, as does my capacity to share it.

I am me this whole time, learning, practicing, training, ad infinitum. I am me, rooted while growing. I am me, the change I wish to see in the world.

Bit Post: What Is Up With This Road Rage?

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In response to Friend’s post describing a driver’s prolonged tyranical rant at him after honking at her for cutting him off at an intersection, marveling at the disproportionality and vehemence of it, incredulous at its intensity and utterly violent resonance:

“It’s been getting worse for years now, and escalating exponentially in the past year, in my observation. It’s the toxic milieu of the world, I’m afraid. Everybody is on their last nerve and lashing out impulsively whenever and wherever it has the least/fewest perceived consequences—at strangers. 😞 So the best thing each/all of us can do is self-regulate—meet aggression with peace and kindness, defuse rather than escalate. Easier said than done. Sometimes we will inevitably be the aggressor; in those situations we can hope that our target can respond with equanimity rather than hostility. This is how things will get better. One de-escalated encounter at a time.” 🙏🏼🫤❤️‍🩹

What You Call Me Matters–Doesn’t It?

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How many different names do you go by? In what contexts are they used? Who uses them? How do you and others identify with them? How do you feel about them?

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about pseudonyms. Authors and narrators use them often, and I have felt some inner conflict about how to address these people whom I so admire, especially if I consume their work under all of their names and want to know them as whole people… Then this past week I realized: I have multiple names, too.

Cathy, Cath, Catherine, Dr. Cheng, 鄭家薏 or just 家薏 (my Chinese full and given names), and 大姐 (literally big sister). Doc. Chenger. 媽 (“Ma”), or “Mother,” as Daughter chooses to call me. What you call me indicates how we know each other, my identity in your eyes, our relationship. 

I use ‘Catherine’ on all legal and professional documents, and as a speaker/writer. I choose to maintain that name on social media as well, because I see it as my public name. ’Cathy’ is what you can call me when you know me personally. That is how I make the distinction; when you call me Cathy you have crossed a border of familiarity (it’s not hard). So it’s interesting to me when some people still call me Catherine after that connection is made. I don’t mind, necessarily, but I notice. I asked a colleague why he does this; he said he didn’t know, which was interesting. I think since then he just hasn’t used my first name when addressing me. Fascinating.

I call myself Dr. Cheng with students and trainees. That just feels appropriate. I introduce myself to patients and coworkers as Cathy Cheng. Unless they are senior physicians, whom I consider my teachers and thus address as Dr. ___, I address patients by their preferred first names unless otherwise requested. Some patients and staff still elect to call me Dr. Cheng. Here’s the interesting part: I get different feelings (and/or make up different stories) about why. From some, it feels like simple respect and deference, from a cultural, professional, or generational origin, which I appreciate. For others, it feels like an intentional separation, as if they don’t want to know me as a person, and resist letting me know them in kind–it’s transactional. I have no objective evidence for this theory, it’s just a feeling I get. And it’s all okay. I see it as my job to show up to patients however they need and allow me. My preference is for us to know each other as whole people, informally, openly, on a first name basis. But if that’s not what they want, I can still be a good enough doctor for them. We don’t have to be friends for you to get excellent care. 

If I’m honest, though, I see every new patient–every new person I meet, actually–as a potential new friend. I have had the privilege now of making friends with many patients over the years. We keep appropriate boundaries. I message medical stuff through the patient portal and my work email. We keep clinical conversations to formal encounters, and I document accordingly. We agree in advance that if it gets too weird we will be open about it, and either party may exit either or both relationships, no hard feelings. So far it has not felt difficult and nobody has broken up with me yet. Having different names actually helps. ”Okay now I’m talking to Dr. Cathy,” Patient Friend may say, not necessarily addressing her physician, but her physician friend. It’s organic.

The more I think about it, the less important it feels to make too much of these identity distinctions around names. At the end of the day I am me, whole and indivisible. You may know me as doctor and friend, among many other roles. You may also choose to not know all of me. That’s okay too, as long as whatever relationship we have is mutually respectful. I have written before about the exercise that invites us to consider our various identities as petals on a flower, which we can orient and re-orient according to environment and context. One of the greatest rewards of any given relationship is when we slowly reveal more of ourselves to each other over time, and our connection deepens in its own unique way. I love that. I’m less confused now about how to relate to and address my book heroes. I will call them what they call themselves, and aim to know them however they wish to be known.

Apparently, the readings today in the Catholic church had to do with names. My friend Danielle emailed me her reflections just as I started writing this post, which I took as a divine signal. She has given me permission to share here, for which I am so grateful. 

We take our names for granted. It’s not good or bad, it just is. I’m glad and grateful to have been nudged this week to explore and consider, to have time and space to think and write about my names and identities, and how they relate–to everything. I expect additional insights will emerge in the coming days, weeks, etc. How exciting! Please enjoy Danielle’s words below. I have known her since I was 18; I respect and admire her greatly. 
Best wishes, all!

On a personal level, I think about my name.  I was born Daniel Tuck Wai Lum.  My parents gave us English first names and Chinese middle names.  (It made life easier when folks in the US called me Daniel, and didn’t have to attempt to pronounce Tuck Wai.) When I transitioned, I changed my name to Danielle Tuck Wai Lum.  Most of us never change our first or middle names.  For those of us who are transgender, everyone (or almost everyone) changes their first name.  Many want a name that is very distinct from the name given to them at birth.  For me, I liked my birth first name, just not the gender of it, so Danielle was an easy and logical choice.  Tuck Wai was harder.  As I mentioned earlier, in Chinese names, all children of the same generation and gender are given the same second name, so my brother is Tuck Leung and my sisters are Choy Quon and Choy Hung.  When I transitioned, it would have made some sense to be Choy something or other, but I liked the meaning of my name.  Tuck Wai is typically translated as “good conduct” but can also be translated as “rare kindness”.  I liked the latter translation so much that I stuck with my birth middle name.  When I pray I think about whether I am living up to my name.  Perhaps you too can learn about some aspect of the derivation of your name and ponder whether you are living up to that.