Xuan Xuan the Hero

There is nothing quite like the sinking feeling of discovering that your new great idea has been thought of before. Since there is nothing new under the sun, the more you read, the more often you will be subjected to that feeling. Putting together Xuan Xuan's story, I wanted to pull all of the best elements from my favorite epic adventures and apply them to her experiences. This week, I learned that I was re-developing Joseph Campbell's "Hero With A Thousand Faces" theory. Sigh. At least I was on the right track. It is apparently a very widely applauded theory.

So, following Peter Jackson's LOTR principle that the story wavered whenever the the focus strayed from the hero, I return to Xuan Xuan's adventure. According to Campbell, a hero's story begins in the ordinary. Check. Like many heros, Xuan Xuan's true origins are murky, her parentage unknown. But the known story begins by confirming that her early days were spent in a humble environment, in the care of loving people.

There is then a call to adventure, which the hero initially rejects. Epic heroes are almost always forced to pursue their adventure. Few go out searching for excitement. Usually their home is destroyed, or, as is usually the case with child heroes, the adventure begins with a kidnapping. The invading army, slavetraders, gypsies, or in this case, adoptive parents, then take the child by force so far away from home that return is impossible even if they escaped. Check.

The hero usually has a mentor in his new world, and once he accepts that relationship, he crosses some sort of threshold and accepts his role as hero. Check. Although Xuan Xuan resisted with a hero's force, by the time we left Guangzhou, she had accepted the new reality of her life. Surrounded by Chinese adults who called us her mama and baba, and a 40 story hotel full of white parents with Chinese babies, she began to call us mama and baba. Together we traveled for 24 hours before the crossing the threshold of her new home, which she recognized and accepted immediately.

Adventures follow, in which the hero faces numerous tests and acquires helpers. This is likely to take most of the next year for Xuan Xuan. Like many heroes, Xuan Xuan began her adventures recklessly. With no hope of returning to her ordinary life, she was fearless and aggressive. She tried to keep up with much older kids on the playground equipment, climbing too high and too fast. At home she pushed mama on the swings hard enough to tip the swingset onto its back legs. When she bumped her head or fell down she seldom noticed. Then one day, like many a warrior before her, whose rage has driven them far into the enemy's ranks, her head cooled and she looked up to find herself surrounded. Anger turned to fear.

Suddenly, the girl who loved the zipline is afraid of the merry-go-round. One slide that she used to go down headfirst now requires mama's handholding. She first used the word "hai pa" (scary) to describe the dark. A week later, even our FCC calendar sporting pictures of little Chinese girls received the label. Her early games were no more than experiments in physical ability. Happy as I am that she now plays imagination games, I wish that they did not so heavily feature wild animals roaming the streets of Fremont and Mr. Potatohead terrorizing her baby doll.

Bedtime is of course the biggest hai pa of all. Sometimes she is clearly terrified; like the time she woke up from a nap half an hour early and I wasn't in the room. Other times, she is clearly working an angle to avoid sleep; like the time the clock radio was too scary for bedtime. But there is a wide range in between where I cannot always identify whether she is genuinely afraid of something, generally insecure in her situation, or just trying to avoid a nap.

As with dozens of other concerns that arise for a hero's mentor each day, I find myself woefully unprepared to provide my hero the necessary assistance. Perhaps I am not really the mentor in this epic, but the sidekick narrator. As such, I will almost certainly fall into the camp that holds Watson, the bemused Passepartout, or even the "food for wolves" guy from Conan rather than ... Oh now that's interesting. A quick survey of competent sidekicks (Samwise Gamgee, Little John, Chewbacca) reveals that none of them felt the need to narrate. Now that requires some exploration.

Sleeping Beauty

I read a dog training book once that included a picture of a dog squatting to poop. The caption read, "To those who have struggled to housebreak their dogs, a dog pooping in the right place is a beautiful sight." If difficulty is a measure of beauty, then the sight of Xuan Xuan asleep in her bed at the foot of ours is a wonder.

It can take up to an hour to get her down for a nap, which often ends in something resembling night terrors only an hour later. Bedtime can often stretch out even longer. In one recent week there were two nights in which she woke every hour and one in which she woke (or woke us) on average every 25 minutes. I don't think she has ever finished a whole night in her own bed.

But the beauty of Xuan Xuan sleeping is more than just the satisfaction of a successful bedtime, or even the prospect of a well rested child the next day (which is truly glorious). Because Xuan Xuan awake is a handful, a pistol, a firecracker, a worthy adversary, a force of nature. Asleep, her face relaxes completely. Her mouth opens just enough to show tiny round teeth, and she is none of those things. Asleep, she is just a little girl. When she is sleeping I can watch a little girl who trusts and needs me more than anyone else in the whole world (although she likes Chris better).

When Xuan Xuan is asleep it is quiet. I sit in stillness and focus on her face as a mandala. In the minutes before she awakes or I fall asleep myself, I look into the face of love.

Om, and Zen What?

The concept of living in the moment has always been very compelling to me. Like the girl in "Our Town" I believe that life is precious and fleeting and we, like Thorough, should suck the marrow from every moment before moving on to the next one. I have worked hard to live this philosophy, but the truth is, I have always been more comfortable in the role of critical observer. I more naturally watch the dance than join in, and critique rather than create. Even on a snowboard or in a sparring match, I seldom silence the inner narrator who judges my decisions even as I make them.

So it came as a surprise to me when parenthood knocked me completely outside of myself and into the moment. Before Xuan Xuan, I thought of myself as organized and efficient; a multi-tasker. Whatever I was doing, a part of my mind was elsewhere, planning ahead, reviewing the past or working through some problem. Now there are days when I can't find time to shower, let alone think about myself. Many people have asked me how I like motherhood, and I've had to answer, "I haven't thought about it yet." Although I used to evaluate every conversation, every choice, every outfit, I have not considered this, the biggest change in my identity since my own birth.

For the first time in my life, I am too busy to think. Which is not to say that I am operating on instinct. Instinct isn't much good when you've got a dirty child who screams when you turn on the bathwater. My day is full of problems that instinct can't solve. With my mind occupied by logistical and psychological conundrums and my body set to toddler tracking, I am too absorbed by each moment to think about the moment.

Most people think that meditation is about spacing out, but it is actually about tuning in and being completely present in the moment. Now I know why monks meditate while sitting down. "Our Town" explained it, but I didn't get it until now. You can't actually be present in every moment because you'll burn out. Maintaining presence is exhausting. Having reached this state of Zen I can now say that everyone should visit, but you wouldn't want to live there. I can't actually savor life inside a moment. I need to pause between bites, consider the flavors, take notes, and criticize the chef. It takes more than the moment itself to fully appreciate a moment.

Some of the initial intensity in our new family has begun to cool. Xuan Xuan did some grieving last week, and compared to the initial grief cycles this looked like being a little cranky. Now I can take an occasional moment to look ahead. When I do, I look forward to the time when Xuan Xuan is settled in our family; when we have routines and habits that we perform thoughtlessly; when mundane activities are not epic challenges. When the day comes that I can take a day for granted, I am going to enjoy spacing out and thinking back, reflecting on how much our family was strengthened by the time when I was intensely, fully Zen-present in every moment.